


Stuck in the Past

by becki



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Deserves Happiness, Connor whump, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Family, Father-Son Relationship, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Heavy Angst, Nightmares, Overprotective Hank, Panic Attacks, Parent Hank Anderson, Poor Connor, Poor Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Canon, Post-Game, Post-Pacifist, Protective Hank Anderson, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suspense, Whump, connor’s emotions will be shown by overuse of LED colors oops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2019-08-22 07:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 87,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16593665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becki/pseuds/becki
Summary: Connor, ever since he became deviant and had escaped from Amanda’s clutches, felt safe, content, and in control. After all, he lived happily with Hank and his dog after Markus and the androids led a peaceful protest. What was there to be concerned about, anyway?That was what Connor believed until, however, a nightmare led him think otherwise. With new thoughts of feeling as if he could lose control of his program to Amanda yet again and become a danger to Hank, Connor can’t help the rising worry within him. And while he tries his hardest to hide his fears from Hank, that plan may not work out exactly as he hopes.Note: This fic deals a lot with suicide. If you’re sensitive to that topic, please read with caution or refrain from reading. Stay safe my friends <3





	1. A New Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the first part of a new series I’m starting! Connor and Hank’s relationship (which I personally see as father/son, as you will see in the story), has always been my favorite, so I knew I just had to write a story for them eventually. I hope you guys enjoy it, even though this chapter is super short and really, really crappy; they should start to get longer and more action-packed as the story goes on, don’t worry.

Everything around Connor is set perfectly in place, just how he prefers it. An eagerness to accomplish his mission fills him as he survey the scene surrounding him.

Connor’s body is completely unharmed, with no damaged or even slightly-scratched biocomponents that would threaten to send him to deactivation. As a state-of-the-art RK800 prototype, he can always upload his memory and transfer it to another model if he does result in deactivation. However, it’s still more preferable to stay unharmed.

There’s a shiny, sturdy pistol in the clenches of his hand, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

His finger is placed precisely on the trigger, eager to set of the gun and place a bullet in his target.

And lastly, his target is aimed at the bottom the barrel, struggling to get up after Connor had beaten him to the ground. It was an effortless defeat, and Connor almost felt sorry as he watched his target get beaten to a pulp before sailing to the ground.

Connor stifles a chuckle as he watches his target pathetically attempt to stand. His face contorts into a grimace as he places pressure on his right leg, quickly stumbling again onto the ground with a groan. Curiosity creeping within Connor on his target’s condition, he does a quick scan.

Anderson, Hank: Betrayed

Right leg: Broken in 3 spots-will need hospital treatments for recovery

Head: Mild concussion due to trauma

“Perfect,” A female voice coos from within his mind palace, startling him out of his scan. He immediately recognizes her as Amanda. “Now, kill Lieutenant Anderson, so you can remove him as a distraction and finally return to your missions.”

Pride swells within Connor at Amanda’s words; it makes hum more than happy to please her. He’s regrettably left her in the past by forming a relationship with Hank, but he’s now set on making amends for that foolish mistake. He knows that he’s a machine, designed to accomplish a task that Amanda assigns, and that’s exactly what Connor intends to do.

Hank, still half on the ground, gives a pleading look at Connor. His voice trembles slightly as he speaks, “Connor, please, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to listen to your program. We’re partners, we’re fami...we’re-“

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor cuts him off, his voice smug. He doesn’t care anymore that Hank has tears glistening in his eyes, desiring for a change back within him. He doesn’t care anymore that he could change back if he wanted, and abandon his mission for Hank and other androids that he’s grown close to. He doesn’t care anymore that he and Hank used to be very close partners, and he’s shown empathy for Hank in the past. All Connor cares about now is the mission. “But I’m no deviant.”

With those words echoing around them, Connor pulls the trigger without hesitation. A gunshot erupts from within the gun as a carefully aimed bullet is placed in his target’s head.

“Well done, Connor. Finally, you can return back to your missions without distractions,” Amanda praises, suddenly appearing before Connor. There’s an almost sadistic look on her face as she gazed upon him with a smile. “You can be a machine again, just like you were designed to be.”

A gasp full of terror escapes from within Connor as he bolts straight up in his bed, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. His eyes dart around his bedroom that he’s in like bullets, panic clouding his thoughts and leaving his LED shining a bright red.

Intrusive thoughts begin to whir in Connor’s mind, causing the all-too-familiar feeling of fear to overwhelm him. It’s a common feeling to Connor by now, and he still despises it.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he finds himself springing out of bed in search for Hank, stress raising steadily within him. Connor whips open his bedroom door and make a beeline for Hank’s room through the hallway, a terrible feeling of dread filling the air.

Hs almost slams into Hank’s bedroom door once he reaches it, quickly composing himself so he can pull it open.

What Connor sees when he opens the door causes him to breathe a sigh of relief, despite his lack of lungs; he feel as if a burden has been lifted off of himself. Hank is asleep in bed, surprisingly not at all shifting or awake due to the racket Connor must’ve caused within the last few minutes.

His stress levels decrease gradually, along with his LED flickering back into a soft yellow color, as it finally registers within him that Hank is truly okay, and what he had just witnessed in his dreams never occurred. He feels slightly stupid that he had believed his nightmare was real; hasn’t he learned enough from humans that those are always false?

But, he still couldn’t deny the feeling that it felt so real...

Though, as he continues to stand in the doorway, worry still manifests inside himself as he recalls his nightmare. Connor always believed that he would never hurt anyone, especially Hank, and that’s because things have drastically changed since that moment with Markus where he broke his “barrier“.

He’s a deviant now, and not a machine anymore.

He doesn’t follow missions or orders anymore.

Cyberlife and Amanda don’t control him anymore; he’s the one in control.

...but is that really the truth?

An uneasy feeling dwells within Connor as he truly thinks about what he’s saying. Who’s to say that the nightmare could never occur in real life, and that Amanda can’t resume control of his program again? She’s done it once before-who’s to say it couldn’t happen again?

Could that nightmare ever become true?

Connor quickly shakes his head, desperately trying to wipe the dreadful thoughts away. He knows that can’t worry about that; he’s in control, and nothing will change that.

...no, nothing will change that.

Connor quickly realizes that he’s still just standing idly in the doorway, not moving at all for the last few minutes. Feeling slightly stupid, he shuts the door softly, taking much care to do it quietly. Unlike androids, humans do need sleep, and it‘s best not to interrupt it if he doesn’t have to.

Connor begins to trek back to his room, but then decides to stop. All of a sudden, he really doesn’t feel like sleeping tonight anymore; it’s not like he requires sleep, anyway. He just enjoys it, since it makes him feel more human. It was always an escape from the real world, where Connor could just power down for several hours and not think anymore.

But that was before he was aware that he could get nightmares.


	2. Barriers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back with another chapter, and hopefully it’s a bit more improved than the last one. Looking back, I’m really not a fan of the last one, but oh well. I hope to make up for that with the chapters ahead of me! 
> 
> This one is mainly just some exposition, but I hope it’s interesting nonetheless :).

“Morning, Connor.” 

At the sound of Hank’s groggy voice from the kitchen entrance, Connor whips around from his current task, which is cracking eggs against a pan edge and then placing them carefully in it, so that he can greet him. “Good morning, Hank.”

Connor can’t help but feel apprehensive as he watches Hank enter the kitchen, movements sluggish to prove that he’s still half-asleep. He’s still wearing a wrinkly gray t-shirt and royal blue pajama pants, since he loves to wait until the last minute possible to change into his less comfortable work clothes. However, all Connor envisions when he looks at him are frightening images, appearing without consent in his mind.

Hank beaten to the floor, the impact of betrayal sending tears to his eyes.

Connor’s gun trained on his face, not even having doubts on whether or not he should place the bullet between the hopeless eyes.

Hank’s face pleading as Connor watched with sheer amusement, his laugh harsh and mechanical.

No. Abruptly tearing his eyes away from Hank and forcing them to focus on cracking the eggs before him, Connor desperately tries to erase those horrid, nightmare-induced thoughts out of his mind. He refuses to dwell on them anymore. 

It wasn’t true.

It’s not going to be true.

...no, it’s not going to be true. 

Hank trudges over towards one of the cupboards, searching for a suitable mug to hold his usual morning cup of coffee. Oddly enough, as he’s picking one out of the cupboard, Connor notices him eyeing him strangely out of the corner of his eye. Before Connor can question why he’s staring at him at like that, Hank inquires with clear confusion in his voice, “Why’re you up so early?”

Connor can understand now why Hank is confused; due to the fact that his body doesn’t require sleep, there is no internal body clock or inclination to naturally wake up in the morning. So, Hank always has to wake Connor up, and thus is always up earlier than him. If Hank wasn’t there to wake Connor up, he’d probably sleep past noon or later until his systems decided to wake. 

“I just woke up early, I guess,” Connor says with an even tone, looking Hank square in the eye as nonchalant as possible. Connor knows that saying the truth would result in futile concern from Hank, and pity is far down on Connor’s wish list. But as an even more pressing matter, Connor certainly can’t gather up the courage to admit to Hank about the repulsive occurrences that his mind had formed; He can’t even fathom Hank’s response to it.

Not to mention that Connor has a nagging worry that it could not just be a revolting dream, but become the truth...

So, Connor quickly determines that bluffing is the best course of action to avoid suspicion. Besides, he’s very skilled at lying; he’s programmed to be able to do so well so that he can use that during investigations. “My systems are adaptable, so they probably just got accustomed to when I normally have to get up.”

However, an unpleasant feeling begins to swell within him as he fibs: guilt. The feeling is unbeknownst to him, and Connor immediately despises it.

To Connor’s surprise, Hank’s expression shows that he’s clearly not convinced. Far from it, in fact. That perplexes Connor, since nothing he said was too unbelievable or obviously not the truth. Puzzlingly enough, Hank’s gaze wanders towards the side of Connor’s forehead for reasons that are unknown to him.

“That’s...weird,” is all Hank says, drawing out the silence between words. “Also, stop saying words like ‘systems’. It makes you sound less huma...Uh, more android like.”

“Sorry, Hank.” Oops. In the panic of his lies, Connor forgot how much Hank detests when he uses words or phrases that remind him of how he’s not truly human. Connor knows how much it hurts Hank that they are not the same; Connor may look, sound, and - with these new deviant emotions - act human, but inside he’s still an android. A non-flesh, metal and wire built, android. Connor doesn’t blame Hank for his spiteful attitude when he’s reminded of this. He doesn’t like to think about it, either.

Connor guesses that’s what makes the difference of them being “friends” instead of “family” - they are not truly the same. 

Connor returns back to his original task of fixing up breakfast, now beginning to crank up the heat of the oven so that he can fry the eggs that he had previously cracked.

“So,” Hank pipes up. He begins walking over to the coffee machine, with his mug in hand, to get the coffee started. “How’d you sleep?”

The question seems kind of peculiar to Connor. Hank never asks how Connor slept; of course it’s always going to be the same - quiet and without interruption - since Connor’s an android. Sleep isn’t “bad” or “good”. It’s just a time period where his systems are shut off, leaving him in stand-by mode.

Well, that was until last night...

Connor shakes the dreadful memory out of his mind before turning to look at Hank, mid-flip of the eggs in the frying pan. They sizzle as Connor informs him, confusion clear in his tone, “Uh...it was good?”

Hank wraps his arms around his chest, nodding slightly. However, his eyes are narrowed and full of suspicion. A bit of annoyance grows within Connor as he begins to feel as if he’s being interrogated this morning. ”You sure?”

Scrambling the eggs in the frying pan before Connor since they are now fried, he doesn’t take his gaze off them in another attempt to appear nonchalant and believable. “Yes, Hank. Why’re you asking, anyway?”

He doesn’t mean for his tone to become bitter as he delivers that sentence, but he can’t help but continue to be slightly bothered at Hank’s pestering. Hank was never so suspicious of everything, and at this moment where there truly is something for him to be suspicious about, it’s very bothersome to Connor.

All Connor wishes for is for Hank to just leave him alone, despite the fact that he has suspicion that something is wrong. Despite that, Connor knows that he can’t say anything, even if Hank doesn’t let the matter drop. 

Connor knows that he can’t tell Hank how he dreamt that he murdered him without hesitation.

Connor knows that he can’t tell Hank that a feeling within him promises that those events could take place if he were to lose control, falling susceptible to Amanda yet again. 

Connor knows that he can’t tell Hank that he’s beginning to lose trust in himself.

There’s no possible way he can tell Hank. 

Hank’s eyes narrow farther, if that’s even possible. His voice is accusing as he informs Connor, “I know you’re lying, Connor.”

”I’m not ly-“

“Yeah, you are,” Hank interrupts him, his voice holding hints of anger. He forcefully points his finger at the side of Connor’s forehead. “Your LED is red and yellow. It looks that way whenever you try to say some sorry excuse.”

What? Connor is sure that he’s lied many times before, and his LED never wavered to give him away. There’s no way that - oh. It begins to dawn on him that the last time he lied was before he was deviant, and it was used to accomplish a mission. Of course, now that Connor’s deviant, his LED shows emotion; guilt and worry of being caught from lies sure are emotions.

Great.

Sheepishly, Connor finds himself breaking the tense eye contact with Hank out of shame and embarrassment. As much as Connor adores having new, interesting emotions, these negative ones are definitely unpleasant and unwanted.

Hank’s face softens slightly, along with his tone of voice. “C’mon, Con, just tell me what’s going on. Did something happen last night?”

Connor turns his entire face away from him and fully downcast, all words dying on his lips. He doesn’t know what to say; all he knows is that he’s not telling him about the nightmare.

No matter what.

“Connor, seriously, you can talk to me.” 

Cold silence is all that Connor can think of to respond with.

Hank heaves a heavy sigh as he turns his back on Connor, placing his attention back to the coffee machine now ready to dispense the bitter, caffeinated liquid. Connor senses a sudden, angry shift in Hank’s attitude as he chides, “Whatever. Don’t tell me, that’s fine.”

His sarcasm doesn’t go undetected by the poor android, leaving him with guilt. Connor is aware of how much it must bother Hank to be left out on what’s going on, but he knows that he can’t back down on his own promise of not saying a word. In a timid voice, he speaks up in an attempt to make amends, “Hank, I...”

“Just drop it, okay?” Hank barks out at Connor, having clear annoyance at his refusal to speak. “If you don’t want to talk, then whatever.”

Connor is completely sure Hank is lying when he says ‘whatever’ to act like he doesn’t care, but he decides to just let it go. Saying anything else would just provoke even more lashing out, and that’s the last thing Connor would like right now. “...Alright.”

Not without awkwardness, he dishes out the scrambled eggs onto a polished plate. He can sense the movements of Hank behind him as he sits down at his seat at the kitchen table, mug filled to the brim with scalding, black coffee. As much as Hank loves his sugary, sprinkle coated, artificial donuts (which Connor loves to constantly nag him to stop munching on during work), he ironically never liked his coffee with the same amount of sweetness; it’s always black, having no amounts of cream, milk, or sugar. 

As Connor places the plate of hot, scrambled eggs before Hank, he mutters out, “Thanks.”

“No problem, Hank,” is his short, choppy response. During the first week of the two partners living together, Hank despised how Connor made him breakfast; he said it made him feel like he had hired a maid, or a slave, to do chores for him. Regardless, he obliged when Connor told him how he really didn’t mind at all; he liked to do it, in fact. Besides, it didn’t take much more convincing when Hank realized how well it tasted in comparison to his previous meals, which were microwaved bagel sandwiches that can be purchased at gas stations for nothing more than a dollar.

Connor begins to feel even more out-of-place and uncomfortable since he has now finished all his tasks for the morning, now having nothing to do but stand there idly as Hank eats his breakfast and sips his coffee. This is normally the time where Connor sits down at the table, even though he doesn’t eat, to make light-hearted small talk with Hank before they have to get ready for work. But now, the idea of sitting down across of still ticked-off Hank feels wrong to him somehow. 

So, without giving it a second thought, Connor decides to skip out of their usual morning chit-chat session and resorts to already getting ready for work. He’s quick to escape the awkward tension in the kitchen, hustling down the hallway to his bedroom with quick steps. 

Connor doesn’t know if Hank realizes that he is leaving him alone this particular morning, but even if he does, he doesn’t call out anything from his seat at the table as Connor escapes from the kitchen. 

In fact, no more words are exchanged between them for the rest of the morning.


	3. A Friendly Face Returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a good amount of free time within the past few days, so I got around to writing a new chapter! 
> 
> This one is a bit more action-packed. I’m still trying to get better at writing intense moments, since I find them pretty hard to write well. So, this was a bit of practice. 
> 
> Regardless, I hope you all enjoy it! Next part should be out tonight or tomorrow.

The coffee machine gurgles loudly as it spits out the caffeinated drink into the cup placed below it. It sends out a pleasant smelling aroma that fills the air of the break room, contrasting the musky smell of the rest of the police station.

Connor gingerly goes to pick up the cup once it is filled almost to the brim. He takes great care not to slosh coffee over the edges, which would consequently make the cup soggy. He’s aware that those types of accidents are not a big deal, but he predicts that something as minuscule as that happening would send a very tense Hank over the edge this morning. This coffee is meant to be a peace offering in a sense, not another reason for Hank to be irritated at Connor.

He already feels worse enough for having to lie this morning; he doesn’t want to make tensions worse and add onto the list of things to feel guilty about, no matter how small.

Once Connor has a firm, steady hand on the drink’s cup, he treks back through the police department to his desk next to Hank’s. It’s now strangely vacant, and before Connor can even try to figure out where his partner had gone, the whoosh of Captain Fowler’s office door being opened is heard in his ears.

“We’ve got a new case, Connor,” Hank calls out to him as he makes his way towards Connor and their adjoining desks. His hand is holding onto the edge of the case report, with it being bound neatly in a portfolio with a paperclip.

Connor is grateful that they became back on speaking terms as the morning in the station progressed. The silence was, not surprisingly, short lived; the two partners don’t seem to know how to hold grudges for very long.

“What’s it about?” Connor presses once Hank has met up with him, placing the coffee on his desk. He’s more than eager to get his hands on a new case; the last few weeks have been a lull, and not having much to do results in Connor being restless. He’s programmed to be working very hard and constantly on the move, so doing the opposite feels nothing but wrong and awkward to him.

Opening the report, Hank’s eyes dart back and forth across the pages as he flips through them slowly. “Fowler told me it was something about androids vandalizing and stealing stuff.”

After a slight pause, he pipes up again as he stops abruptly on a page, “Yep, looks like it happened on this street, at a corner store.”

Planting the report on the desk so they can now both read it, Hank’s finger is pointing to a store name with its address immediately following it. Connor quickly scans the internet in his mind, searching for any information he can obtain about the particular store.

Noticing the yellow LED on his forehead as he attempts to gain knowledge for their case, Hank prods him, “Well? What did you find?”

“The store is only 13 minutes away by car. However, it closed an hour and 24 minutes ago,” Connor informs Hank, now turning to face him. “Did Captain Fowler mention when we should go down and speak to the manager about the incidents?”

“He said tomorrow at noon would be fine.”

Connor begins to answer, “I’d assume then we should leave tomorrow morning at...”

His voice trails off gradually as a looming figure in the near distance catches his eye.

She stands tall and straight, holding a very professional look to her. She ignores all of the hustling of officers going to and fro around her, focusing her full attention only on the android she once gained control of. The figure holds a devious smile as she gazes upon him, the grin devoid of true joy and happiness. Her dark brown, lifeless eyes glint with malevolent intentions as they burn holes into Connor, looking as if they are passing judgement on him.

_Amanda?_

Connor feels pressure begin to accumulate in his chest as he gazes at his old, detested deviant regulator. The jarring sight leaves him beginning to gasp for air in shallow, irregular breaths, and his thirium pump regulator starts to hammer obnoxiously in his ears.

Panicky, unwelcome thoughts begin to race inside his mind, switching his LED from a previous soft blue into a vibrant red.

_Why is she here?_

_Is she furious at me for abandoning her?_

_Can she harm me?_

And, most panic-provoking of all, _will she hurt Hank?_

“Why are you still aquatinted with him, Connor?” Amanda snarls, as if reading his thoughts concerning Hank. ”He’s obstructing all of the missions...our missions.”

The way she coolly delivers that last phrase sends shivers down his metallic spine and fear through every inch in his body.

_What will she do to me?_

_...to Hank?_

Before his mind can even attempt to process a response to Amanda’s off-putting words, she begins to saunter towards him, movements slick and even paced. She’s growing closer by the second, quickly gaining on the android.

Panic steadily grows within the android, causing his thirium to freeze in his plastic veins. Amanda’s looming figure continues to grow closer by the second, sending Connor’s thoughts into mayhem. They repeat like a record player on a continuous loop, _get out, get out, get out!_

_What am I doing?_

_She’s going to catch me!_

_Get out!_

However, despite how much he desires to, Connor can’t find the courage or strength within him to move even an inch. He’s completely paralyzed; every artificial muscle in his body refuses his demanding orders to dart away from the threat, which is now only a mere few yards away from him.

A sense of disabling dread overcomes him, leaving Connor with only one plausible idea of what to possibly do. He shuts his eyes forcibly, believing with foolishness that maybe if she is hidden from his view, she’ll disappear like rain once the sun comes out.

It doesn’t seem to work.

Connor can now vaguely hear someone calling his name through the loud pounding of his thirium pump regulator, which overcomes almost all noises surrounding him. The voice is too close for comfort, seeming to come from right in front of his face. The other words that are being said, beside from the word “Connor”, are unintelligible to him.

His anxiety spikes, certain that Amanda is the owner of the voice and is now within an arm’s distance to him.

Connor refuses to open his eyes, as he knows full well that when they are opened, they will reveal to him Amanda. He can almost feel her hot breath on his face, sending him to retract his face backwards ever so slightly.

_She’s right here._

_She’s going to take me away._

_She’s going to hurt Hank._

His continuous racing mind determines that the best course of action is, despite how hopeless this plan seems to be, to continue to keep his eyes planted firmly shut and hold out for however long he can. His superhuman mind even now can’t determine what else would be superior to this idea. So he sticks with it.

Seconds feel like hours as Connor anxiously waits to sense the absence of Amanda, the absence of her smug voice, the absence of her breath on his face.

But they never go away.

Apprehension and worry consumes his mind as the agonizing moments creep by, each second slower than the last. They leave Connor suffering in silence as Amanda prepares to attack, to destroy, to harm Connor and his partner who he can’t afford to lose.

Behind shut eyelids, Connor can see a bold red gauge that portrays his stress levels. They steadily rise as the moments pass, going from 71, to 72, to 73...

All of a sudden, a hand is grasped violently on his shoulder, sending him into a full panic as he continues to keep his eyes glued shut. Connor desperately attempts to escape the strong hold Amanda has on on him, but his attempts are feeble and useless.

 _This is it,_ Connor thinks with desperation. _This is where Amanda wins and takes all that I’ve worked so hard to achieve._

_My deviancy._

_My freedom._

_My friendship with Hank._

“Connor!”

The sudden loud shout jolts him out of his discouraged, freely-running thoughts. His eyes burst open, wildly trying to determine who the source of the voice was.

It didn’t sound like Amanda. It kind of sounded like...

“H...Hank?”

Hank is leaning before him, eyebrows furrowed in concern. An empathetic expression is written on face as he gazes upon a dumbfounded, mentally shaken Connor.

Confusion swells within Connor as he slowly scans the room, catching not a hint of the infamous Amanda. While Connor is sure that she was right there a second ago, now she seems to have evaporated into thin air, leaving not even a trace of her moments in the police station behind.

While Connor is surely bewildered, a slight sense of relief washes over him. His shaken nerves calm ever-so-slightly, his thirium pump regulator starts to slow and thump a little less loudly, and his LED begins to flicker back and forth from a pale yellow to red as he registers that Amanda seems to be absent.

For the moment, at least.

Hank’s gentle, full of concern voice pulls him back to the moment. “Connor, are you all right? What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay,” Connor responds, trying as hard as he can to steady his voice and appear brave and unaffected. His attempt fails, voice cracking under the lingering fear he stills feels within him.

Worse enough, without his permission, tears begin to gather in the corners of his eyes and a lump obstructs his throat. He’s able to withhold the tears from falling down his face, but he can’t hide the fact that his body is startng to shake uncontrollably.

So much for being brave.

All he wishes for is to lunge into his partner’s arm and hug him, escaping from the rest of his fearful world. But, he can’t help but gaze past Hank and notice the awkward stares from his coworkers. They quickly avert their eyes away from Connor once they meet uncomfortable eye contact, attempting to appear as if they were not once watching him.

However, Connor knows the truth.

He doesn’t want to cause any more of a scene.

As it continues to dawn on him that all of his coworkers just witnessed his little freak out, embarrassment shows on Connor’s cheeks as they begin to blush a light red. He gets a strong desire to bolt from the police department and escape from their pressing stares.

Not to mention, he can’t help but want to escape from where he still feels Amanda’s lingering, unseen presence.

Grabbing Hank’s arm firmly with a still-tremoring hand, Connor pleads in a soft voice, “Can we go, please?”

Silently, Hank nods with a befuddled look in his eyes. He opens his mouth slightly, looking as if he wants to say something else. Quickly deciding against it, Hank closes his mouth, whips his keys off of his desk, and wraps his jacket around himself. Connor stands from his seat at the desk, his legs still trembling beneath him slightly, and joins Hank in the action of putting on a jacket.

And with each other side by side, they depart from the station, trying their hardest to avoid the strange glances that continue to come from those around them. 

 


	4. Emotions Screw Everything Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this chapter was originally going to be tacked onto the last one, I decided to give it its one chapter to really elaborate on the moment. I hope the scene doesn’t feel too short or anything because of that!
> 
> This one is a bit more feels-y, so I hope you guys like it!
> 
> Next chapter should be out within the coming week, and maybe even tomorrow if I can.

The stench of greasy, fried food surrounds Connor as he stares absentmindedly at the fast food bag before him. The logo that is plastered on the front of the bag is a creature with a joyous smile, completely contrasting the emotions Connor is feeling at the moment as he stares with glazed over eyes.

Hopeless.

Afraid.

Exhausted.

It’s a rare occurrence for Connor to be so immobile and quiet, focusing only on nothing. For every second of his life, he was always thinking, moving, and learning without much rest. But now, he can’t physically find the strength within him to get up and move about.

For the first time since he was built, all Connor wishes for is to just sit there in silence. No more tasks, no more work, no more thoughts...

Just...peacefulness.

Never in his life had he felt so mentally and physically strained.

Feeling of uselessness and weakness grow within Connor as the moments creep by without movement. Not without surprise, he begins to feel annoyance towards himself for his apathy. This is so unnatural to him, and he despises it. As if this will help matters, he begins to scold himself with harsh, self-deprecating words.

_Are you really going to let that moment from before knock you down so easily?_

_It wasn’t even that big of a deal._

_You’re a state-of-the-art prototype, so act like it!_

Unsurprisingly, the self-berating does absolutely nothing but make Connor feel even more morose and worthless.

As he continues to dwell there at the kitchen table, his eyes focused solely on the paper bags in front of him, he starts to yearn for a distraction. Swimming thoughts are beginning to consume his fatigued mind, and no matter how hard he tries to erase them, they stay fixated there.

Thoughts about before, at the station.

Thoughts about the overwhelming fear that he felt.

Thoughts about Amanda.

Putting his head in his hands as if he can’t hold it upright without support any longer, Connor decides to use the fast food bags before him as something to place his full attention on. They’re unopened, but Connor can still scan them from within the paper bags.

Cheeseburger: 1250kCal, Lipids (31g), Carbohydrates (60g), Water (49%), Salt (1.7g)

XL Fries: 535kCal, Carbohydrates (63g), Salt (0.5g)

Honey Mustard Dip: 150kCal, Sugar (5g), Carbohydrates (8g)

Suddenly, Hank strolls into the kitchen, pulling Connor’s attention away from his pointless scan. He already knew that the fried, unnatural food was unhealthy anyway; he doesn’t need to gain information on that to be aware of it.

Though, the results of the scan sure don’t help Connor’s already guilty conscience of letting Hank eat complete garbage. Connor didn’t have enough willpower or energy to make dinner tonight; thus, Hank resorted to ordering fast food, but only after assuring Connor almost a million times that he was perfectly fine with eating that.

However, Connor does find a bit of consolation in knowing that what Hank ordered is considered comfort food by many. Hank is probably looking more forward to diving into a fatty cheeseburger and salty fries than a homemade casserole.

Connor’s eyes follow Hank as he strides across the room and towards the refrigerator, searching for a water bottle. At least Hank is making one healthy choice tonight; drinking water has many more benefits than a calorie and sugar dense soda.

Water bottle in hand, Hank finally plops down at the kitchen table in front of his food. He’s seated across from Connor, as usual.

An awkward silence fills the air as they sit there without movement. Instead of Hank splurging into the bag to eat his food like Connor predicted he would, Hank peers at Connor as if he’s trying to figure him out.

Connor knows that Hank’s taking notice of it all: The yellow LED, the eerie quietness, the averted gaze. He can almost feel the intense stare Hank has on him, making him squirm uncomfortably.

But, instead of returning it, Connor gazes at the table, now focusing on a bread crumb to avoid eye contact.

Finally, Hank breaks the silence by urging with kindness in his tone, “Do you want to talk?”

Connor decides to play the oblivious card, still studying the bread crumb. He guesses its about two days old. “...about what?”

Hank heaves a sigh. “You know what, Connor. About what happened at the station.”

Connor’s LED flickers as he turns his face away, still trying his hardest to not make eye contact with Hank. In a soft tone that’s almost unable to be heard, he declares, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor notices Hank’s expression forming into one of annoyance. It’s already been clearly shown that he despises being left out on the situation, and Connor knows that refusing to respond will only add fuel to the already-burning fire.

But what else can he do?

Tell Hank that he saw his former boss, whose only wish is for Connor to remain a machine? Even worse, who seems to have a clear distaste for Hank and urges Connor to eliminate him?

The idea seems almost laughable to Connor.

Composing himself, Hank leans forward slightly towards Connor. His voice is empathetic as he pleads, “C’mon, Con. You had a full-on panic attack at the police station, and you can’t tell me why? Please, just tell me. I want to help you.”

Hank’s compassionate, soft words cause a couple of unexpected tears to spring into Connor’s brown eyes and a hard lump to form in his plastic throat. His vision starts to swim and become blurry with tears as he continues to stare off in the distance, face still turned away from Hank.

It’s times like these that Connor loathes his frail emotions.

“I’ve been in the same situation before, where I didn’t want to talk to anyone,” Hank sympathizes, eyes full of pain as if he were reliving his darkest moments. Moments that Connor is aware of were full of drunken nights, a revolver against his head, a photo of a lost child in front of him.

Moments that Connor can’t even imagine what it would be like to experience.

Hank’s tone is laced with concern as continues speaking, trying his hardest to persuade the android into confessing. “It’s not healthy to bottle your emotions, Connor; please, just talk to me.”

Pain wrenches within Connor as he hears Hank’s desperate words. He has such a strong desire to spill his heart out to him, telling every inch of his worries from the depths of his heart.

Worries that he knows would make him feel enormously better once he gets them off his chest; having Hank to support him through this would sure help matters.

But, Connor sadly knows that he can’t.

There’s no way he can.

“I...I-I can’t.”

Biting his lip and looking upwards, he desperately tries to restrict the tears from flowing uncontrollably. Even worse, the lump in his throat grows and becomes more apparent. It’s the second time today Connor has been close to tears, and it’s already one too many.

Connor scolds himself at his frailty. He’s supposed to be strong, resilient, and brave. He’s supposed to be a machine that can withstand anything he’s put through, standing tall and straight without waver. He’s supposed to be a being made of steel and icy-cold eyes, looming over any threat in his way.

Instead, Connor’s being the complete opposite; one small issue comes upon him and he’s already knocked down and on the verge of tears, acting as if he were a weak, abandoned puppy.

Connor feels a mixture of disappointment and anger at how pathetic he is.

Out of the blue, he senses movement from across the table. Hank is now ascending from the table and beginning to amble towards Connor. His eyes are downcast as he witnesses Connor on the brink of a breakdown, trying hard to control his overwhelming emotions.

Connor can’t even preconstruct what’s going to happen next; what Hank is planning to do perplexes him.

_Why is he walking over to me?_

But before Connor can even react, Hank is upon him and enveloping him in a warm hug.

As Hank’s arms wrap around him, the pool of tears that have been welling up within Connor’s eyes for long enough begin to stream down his face. He chokes out messy sob, completely given up on trying to withhold his bubbling, negative emotions. Like a young child who goes to his parents for comfort as they cry, Connor buries his tear-stricken face into Hank’s shoulder, the fabric muffling his sobs.

“I’m sorry for being angry this morning,” Hank consoles softly into Connor’s ear, holding him tight as he shudders. “It’s just because I’m worried about you, y’know? And when you wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong, I just-“

“It’s okay,” Connor interrupts with a shaky and pained voice. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Just know that I’m here if you want someone to talk to, alright?”

“...a-alright.”

The two partners continue to hug in a comfortable silence, beside the occasionally hiccup from Connor as he continues to whimper. Hank starts to rub circles into his shuddering back, and for the first time all day, Connor finally begins to relax.

The rare moment feels eerily perfect to him, but he thrives in its peacefulness nonetheless.

He feels more than grateful as he holds onto Hank, not wanting at all to let go of his partner. He wants to feel this safe in Hank’s comforting arms forever, and escape from the cold, threatening outside world.

The world which holds Amanda, who hides in the dark and prepares for another unexpected attack.

The thought of her sends a rush of panic through Connor, and he grips onto Hank harder as his LED flickers crimson.

Hank notices the Connor’s sudden death grip. “Easy, son, you’re all right...”

As the moments pass by, Connor’s sobs begin to subside, with his hiccups and tears slowing down steadily. Gradually, he unwillingly lets go of Hank.

“Feel better?” Hank asks with a sad smile on his face.

Connor nods as a truthful response. While fear is still latched onto his mind, he can’t deny that he does feel a bit better now; he feels as if he has cried out all of his bursting emotions, with not even a single tear left to cry.

Hank continues to study his partner, who’s now wiping away the tears that are stained on his face. After a few moments of this, Hank points out, “You look exhausted.”

Connor gives him a firm, matter-of-fact stare. “I’m fine, Hank. Androids don’t need sleep.”

“Sure, but I know that when you don’t give your body rest when it wants it, it gets overloaded.” Hank returns the stare as he tries to prove himself right. “I can tell; you can hardly keep your eyes open.”

As much as Connor hates to admit, Hank is correct. While androids don’t require sleep, they do perform their best after getting rest, especially after going through mental or physical strain.

Connor knows that the day’s events have definitely added up, putting him past his usual strain. The nightmare that woke him up far too early in the morning, the fight with Hank, the stressful moment back at the police station...it’s no wonder to Connor that he feels as if he’s walking around with a burden weighing on his back.

So, despite the clock telling him that it’s only 7:03 P.M., Connor obliges.

“I guess I can go to bed early tonight.”

“I think that’s best, Con.” Hank grins warmly to Connor, nodding. He walks back to the table, ready to dive into his hopefully still warm fast food. “Goodnight.”

Starting to walk away from the kitchen and towards his room, Connor responds, “Goodnight, Hank.”

As Connor trudges past the bathroom on his way to his bedroom, he considers hopping in for a shower. On most nights, Connor usually takes a long, hot shower before bed to wipe away any dirt or grim from the day’s events. However, tonight, the mere thought of having to stand under the stream of water and wash his body appears to him as a daunting task. So, Connor decides to skip out on it, his mind solely on the the thought of climbing into bed and powering off.

Connor creaks open the door to his bedroom once he reaches it, not even bothering to flicker on the lamp at his bedside table once he enters. Too weary to change into a clean, soft shirt and matching shorts, he falls into his comfortable bed with today’s clothes still on.

And the second Connor pulls the blanket over his body, he powers down, thankful to fall into the abyss and let his fears shut off, even if it’s only for several hours.


	5. Haunting Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was planning on having this chapter out a few days ago, it took a pretty long time to write and edit it. So, sorry for the delay!
> 
> Anyway, this part has some more interactions between our favorite duo! Now, instead of hanging around each other at home like they were last chapter, they’re working side by side on a new case that they were just assigned. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Connor has always loved the city. From the very moment life was breathed into his mechanical veins back in the Cyberlife warehouse, he adored it all.

Every aspect of it, no matter how small, excited him: the people going to and fro from each store with purses hanging off their shoulders, various breeds of dogs on leashes strutting loyally by their owners, children giggling as they mischievously chucked snowballs at their oblivious siblings. Each different environment provided something entirely new for an eager Connor to scan, allowing him to gather as much interesting information on it that he could. And he didn’t scan his surroundings because it pertained to an investigation he was working on - he just did it because he desired to, like a curious child would when they wandered into a candy store.

And although he used to spend almost all of his time in depressing, devoid-of-joy crime scenes back when he was a machine, he would always take the opportunity to enjoy the city environment whenever he could. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t as often as he’d prefer.

However, as Connor cruises down the dirt-brown slushy streets of the city with Hank by his side at the steering wheel, he can’t help but take notice of the strange shift in the city. Now, instead of humans littering the streets and going about their daily business, there are now seas of androids who are left with the dangerous capacity of free-will and no home to dwell in.

Less people with purses, less loyal dogs, less playfully fighting children.

More machines striding across sidewalks, more identical faces that share the same model, more flickering LEDs of various colors.

Connor knows that this is the aftermath of “The Android War”, as social media has been refering to it. The incident that occurred only a week ago caused a large amount people to evacuate as androids emerged, leaving most stores closed and streets very decreased in human activity. Of course, there are a still few open shops here and there, but they are a less common sight.

Connor is unsure of whether he likes this shift or not. He always admired the original, human populated streets, but he also finds great joy in seeing his own people set free...

“Which way do I turn?”

Hank’s gruff voice pulls Connor out of his wandering thoughts. He abruptly pulls his attention back to his current objective, searching his mind for the stored-away answer which was calculated beforehand.

“Turn left. The store will then be on that street.”

“Got it,” Hank responds, quickly guiding his car left as he spins the steering wheel.

As they turn the corner, the first thing Connor sees are a couple police cars from the D.P.D. Their owners, who are bundled up in coats with their hands shoved deep into their pockets, are left scattering the area of the vandalized store.

Connor is more than thankful that he doesn’t feel the cold; by the looks of the shivering police officers, it seems to be very unpleasant.

As Hank’s car approaches the crime scene, Connor takes notice of an angry, lone man among the activity. He wears a uniform unlike all of the police officers, with it’s colors matching that of the store’s brightly-colored sign. _That must be the store owner,_ Connor presumes.

Hank slowly rolls his car to a stop in front of the store, the snow crunching as it compacts under the tire. He switches off the ignition and looks as if he’s about to make his way out of the car. But, to Connor’s surprise, he makes no movement.

“Something wrong, Hank?”

Hank turns slightly to face the android, the secure seatbelt holding him back from facing him straight on. With a puzzled look on his face, he asks, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Connor’s confusion must be clearly displayed on his face, for Hank continues, “You don’t seem fit for work, kid. With what happened at the police station recently and how you acted last night, I’m not sure if you’re ready to do this investiga-

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupts sternly, irritation causing his voice to rise considerably. He inwardly scolds himself for his sudden burst of anger - he knows that Hank is just concerned, that’s all. Despite that, he can’t help being bothered at the fact that his vain fears are now obstructing his important role as detective.

They can‘t get in the way any longer.

Hank studies his partner for a few moments in silence. His eyes show disbelief at Connor’s words, and he starts to open his mouth to call his bluff. But before the words get a chance to be said, Connor is pulling on the car door handle and exiting the car in an overly exasperated manner.

As Connor stomps away through the snow like an immature child who didn’t get his way, he’s aware that he’s being a bit overdramatic; but, he can’t seem to push away the anger that boils within him.

For yet another time within the past few days, the fuming android loathes his bothersome emotions.

The slam of a car door echos from behind Connor. He starts to sense the presence of Hank trailing behind him, his breath increasingly heavy as he attempts to catch up to Connor who had a big head start. It doesn’t take too long for Hank to catch up to him, and they fall into step beside each other. Connor, who’s still irked off, continues to ignore his partner and stares straight ahead with a stone cold expression.

As the pair approaches the scene with tension radiating off of them, multiple police officers turn at the sound of footsteps in the snow. Their conversations die on their lips as they gaze past Hank and fixate their eyes on the android; there’s a mixture of slight concern and question in their eyes.

Connor’s perplexed at the sudden attention he’s receiving. His first, logical guess is that they had heard his short outburst from within the car, despite how it’s parked several yards away from where the officers were standing at the time.

But suddenly, the embarrassing moment that Connor had caused yesterday appears fresh in his mind, and the reason why he’s receiving these strange glances from his coworkers finally dawns on him slowly. The memories all come at him in full force: the panicking, the curious stares, the desperate want to escape the station with Hank. As he recalls the scene as if it were a horror movie replaying in his mind, a hint of blush shows on his cheeks out of sheer embarrassment.

Disoriented on how to act, Connor just returns the stares nonchalantly despite his face now closely resembling a cherry-red tomato. He’s aware that the attempt is futile; but, even his superhuman brain that can calculate probabilities within nanoseconds can’t determine on a different solution.

Annoyance bubbles within Connor at the fact that Cyberlife had to install a blushing program to make him appear more human-like. He can almost hear Hank saying with a slight shake of his head, “Cyberlife really thought of everything, huh.”

“So, what’s the situation?” Hank asks to no one in particular once they’ve met up with the group. Relief and gratitude wash over Connor that Hank has cut the awkward tension apart between both the duo and also between Connor and and the police officers. He hopes that maybe Hank’s question will give his coworkers something more to place their attention on than that mortifying memory.

The infuriated store owner, whose name tag reads “Joseph”, is the first to give a response. His eyes are burning with anger as he goes on a rant.

“Some android hooligan broke into my store over night and wrecked it all up! They vandalized it, caused a mess, stole items-“

“Hang on a minute,” Hank interrupts the rampage with a raise of his hand. “How do you even know that it was an android who did it?”

As if expecting that question, he starts to suanter away with a matter-of-fact glare. Barking at Hank as he gestures with a wave of his hand for the police crew to follow, “Well, let me show you something.”

Hank rolls his eyes as he begrudgingly follows the store owner with the rest of his crew. This must not be the first time he’s dealt with snotty victims.

Instead of leading the pack inside the store as Connor presumed, Joseph stomps around to the back wall of it. When they round the corner, words can clearly be seen in bold lettering. They are written largly in blue spray paint, covering almost half of the wall.

 **GIVE US OUR FREEDOM NOW** **  
OR WE WILL TAKE IT BY FORCE**

Connor now understands why the store owner assumed the vandalization was done by an android - the words are spray painted with perfection in the font of Cyberlife Sans.

Not to mention, the message correlates perfectly with an android. Ever since Markus’ revolution, the government still hasn’t made any change to android laws. Androids are still highly disrespected, not given property, and allowed to be used as slaves by humans who still reside in Detroit, despite how the government alluded to making changes to that. Many androids have shown their anger to that, and this graffiti proves as a perfect example.

“You’re correct in assuming that it was done by an android,” Connor confirms as they all peer curiously at the vandalized wall. “The letters are perfect and written in a specialized font - no human could have done that.”

Joseph nods profusely with his hands on his hips. “See? I told you, it was an android who did this.”

A police officer from beside Connor pipes up, “Well, do you know of any androids who live or work around here that could be the suspect?”

All Joseph does in response is laugh coolly at the officer’s innocent question. “Work? Ever since that mess with Markus happened, androids around here don’t work. They just roam around like headless chickens and destroy our stuff.”

Hank sighs, looking clearly exhausted from this case already. “Great. That’ll sure help us find the android.”

The group’s complaining ends abruptly, leaving them standing in silence without even the slightest clue of what to do next. Connor doesn’t blame them at their doubts of what the next course of action should be - they have no leads, no sightings, nothing. The case is already starting to feel like a dead end, and they haven’t even begun investigating it yet.

Connor steps forward, determined to try at least something before completely throwing in the towel. “Well, why don’t we at least search around the place for clues? There’s got to be something around here that reveals the identity of the android.”

“Yeah, let’s do that.” Hank agrees with a slight nod. Connor notices the thanks in his eyes that at least now they have some sort of objective. Pointing to the officers, he orders them in an authoritative tone, “You guys should head inside to look for evidence in here. Connor and I can stay out here.”

They all consent without protest, looking more than eager to get out of the frigid, continuously dropping temperatures.

Hank turns to his partner, and Connor can’t help but shift awkwardly in the snow as he remembers how he had acted just minutes ago. With guilt swallowing him, he finally cracks and apologizes in a timid voice.

“I...I’m sorry, Hank. For how I acted earlier.”

Relief washes over the android as Hank gives a small smile. “It’s alright, kid.”

Connor continues to study him with a sympathetic expression as watches him shiver in the bitter cold. In an attempt to keep warm, Hank’s hands are buried in his thick coat pocket and his body is slightly hunched over, mimicking the body gesture of his coworkers. “Now, let’s hurry this up so we can join them inside.”

“Got it.” Connor definitely wasn’t planning on making his friend suffer in the freezing temperatures a minute longer than he absolutely had to.

More than eager to begin investigating so that they can finish their duties out here, the duo does a quick sweep of their eyes to survey the scene. The first thing Connor takes note of are faint footprints; their outline is dried within the almost completely snow-covered mud. A quick scan shows him all the information that he needs to know.

Shoe Print  
Model HK400  
Almost 2 days old

“It’s an HK400 model,” Connor announces to Hank once he exits the scan. “The android was here almost 2 days ago, matching up with the night of the vandalism.”

Hank nods as his teeth chatter. “So, we found our android. Now what?”

“Well, since this type of soil retains a trace, there has to be...” Connor informs Hank, not bothering to complete his sentence as he searches around for his next lead.

“More footprints?”

Connor glances over to Hank, who’s now pointing at a few more footprints scattered in the ground.

“Bingo.”

Connor ambles over to where Hank is standing by the footprints, impatient to join him and start investigating their lead. And without another moments hesitation, they start to walk alongside the footprints, using those faint marks as a guide.

“This trail is longer than I thought,” Hank complains after they had trudged alongside the footprints for about twenty minutes. They had begun to enter the park, which is quite a distance from the store. “Maybe we should head back, Con. The crew might be wondering where we-“

“Wait a second, Hank.”

Connor puts an end to Hank’s complaints as they stumble upon a wide, frozen-over lake. Fresh snow from last night’s snowfall is delicately placed atop the thick ice.

“The trail seems to end here,” Connor points out as a sense of hopelessness begins to dwell unpleasantly within him. The android had previously been so hopeful once he had luckily found those footprints embedded within the mud. However, it’s starting to seems as if now that lead has unfortunately been snatched away from them.

“Even better,” Hank contributes with a tone that’s dripping in sarcasm, “is that if our suspect did walk across that lake two nights ago, there’s not gonna be anymore footprints. The snow fell last night, and ice doesn’t retain a trace.”

The partners stand there idly, completely dumbfounded on what to do next. Their best lead has unconveniently disappeared without a trace and now they are pulled back to square one.

Perfect.

Hank shrugs, looking more cold than bothered at the situation as he stands there with bluing lips. “Well, guess we did all we could here. Let’s head back to our...”

The words fade away with the wind as Connor tunes him out, a strange, sudden feeling of déjà vu coming upon him. His eyes begin to dart wildly around the frozen lake, apprehension and confusion at this strange sensation overcoming him as he stands there beside the frozen lake.

Hank’s voice can faintly be heard in his ears, but Connor ignores the blabbering as he tries to piece together where the odd déjà vu sensation is erupting from.

This frozen lake...

These freezing temperatures...

_“Amanda?...Amanda!...What’s...What’s happening?”_

_“What was planned from the very beginning...You were compromised and you became a deviant. We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program...”_

The cold, spine-chilling words ring in Connor’s ears, sending shivers down his metal spine that are not due to the cold. His mechanical insides begin to churn with nerves as Amanda’s threatening words continue to bounce around his frenzied mind.

_“Resume control?...Y-you can’t do that!”_

_“I’m afraid I can, Connor...Don’t have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do. You accomplished your mission.”_

His eyes blink rapidly in tune with his ruby LED as he wildly glances around, sheer panic dwelling within him. Connor vividly remembers this conversation, and he knows that he had escaped from Amanda’s grasp.

He knows that he did.

_...but did I really?_

The conversation hangs threateningly in the chilling air. Fear grabs a strong hold of Connor’s thoughts as he can almost yet again feel the sensation of the mixture of ice particles stabbing him in his face, hear the deafening sound of wind flying around him which made him stumble across the slippery ice, experience the sense of dread rising as he anxiously worried whether or not he would find the stone which acted as his exit to his internal prison.

Connor whips back to reality at the ominous sound of snow crunching behind him. Within agonizingly long seconds, the sound stops abruptly, only for Connor to feel the hot breath and threatening presence of someone behind him.

Someone who wishes for nothing more than to have full control of the android she once monitored.

Anxiety surges through Connor, rendering him unable to dart away from his position by the frozen lake. His terrorized mind repeats on a continuous loop _she’s here now she’s here now she’s here now._

Connor shuts his eyes forcibly and attempts to slow his breathing, trying desperately to calm himself and his wildly racing mind. The attempt is futile, and he continues to be plagued with wave after wave of disabling, intrusive thoughts.

_Maybe now she’ll truly take over me and resume complete control of my program._

_Maybe now, with Hank beside me, she’ll make me shoot him once she has control._

_Maybe she’ll-_

_No._ Connor struggles to abruptly interrupt his deceitful thoughts. The rational program within him knows the truth, and that these frightful ideas of Amanda looming behind him are false; however, his mind keeps trying to convince him otherwise, promising that danger surrounds him and lurks in every dark corner.

A wave of dizziness washes over Connor as he becomes disoriented, unable differentiate the two realities he’s fighting against inside his mind. Trying to orient himself, Connor finally opens his eyes gradually. The first thing Connor sees is an alert that partially obstructs his vision.

 _Level of Stress_  
**^** **82%**  
_Probability of Self-Destruction: Moderate_

At the sight of the warning, one thing becomes clear to Connor through all of the chaos swarming in his mind: he needs to get out of here.

_Now._

A gentle hand is placed on Connor’s shoulder, grabbing his attention and drawing it away from his panic. He shakily brings his eyes up to find Hank standing there, mere inches away from him. His eyes are wide with worry as he studies Connor’s features: the LED that’s flashing a bright scarlet, the shaken expression on his face, the twitching eyes as they desperately try to focus on his concerned friend before him.

“Connor, what is going on with you? I’ve been calling your name for the past-“

Grabbing Hank’s arm to steady himself, he cuts him off to fib, “Hank, I...I’m going to take a walk to somewhere warm, I-I’m just really cold and-“

Hank looks at the shaken android with a look of bewilderment, cutting him off as Connor has previously done. “Cold? But you’re an android, you don’t get...”

He doesn’t have an opportunity to finish his sentence, for his partner is already stumbling away across the frozen lake.


	6. On the Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit more exposition-y than having action, since it’s mostly about Connor’s inner thoughts and some new fears coming up. But, I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless!

_She’s right behind me._

These chilling thoughts continue to play again and again and again within Connor’s panicked mind. They refuse to rest and leave him alone despite how much he’s been pleading for them to as he darts across the lake. The urge to scream in frustration that he can’t remove the daunting ideas overwhelms Connor, and it takes every bit of energy within him to withhold himself from shrieking as loud as his mechanical voice box will allow him. And although Connor’s logistics prove that Amanda’s truly not here, he can’t help the fear that swells within him and continue to spawns ideas that surge fear through him.

_She’s going to catch me._

_She’s going to take control over me._

_She’s going to make me hurt Hank._

As the frightful thoughts swim around in his head, Connor’s pace quickens while he darts in between the trees and benches that litter the park. The noticeable hammering of his thirium pump regulator thuds in sync with his quick, uneven steps that crunch deep into the fluffy snow. The pounding sound of his pump regulator rings in his ears, obstructing almost all sounds from being heard by him.

However, there’s one sound that Connor can faintly make out. It’s the pleading, desperate calls from Hank back at the frozen lake.

Anguish stirs in his heart at the thought of Hank, who’s crying out for his partner to return to him and give him at least _some_ insight on what is going on. A deep longing to run back, hug his friend, and hear his soothing words consumes Connor. However, the daydreams leave only to heartache as he is slapped hard with reality - he can’t turn around now and return to his partner.

He needs to get out. Get away from Hank. Get away from Amanda.

So without any more second thoughts that try their hardest to convince Connor to run back, he pushes on with a strong determination to make as much distance as his plastic, precisely-built legs will allow him.

Feelings of relief rise steadily within Connor the farther he gets away from Hank and the frozen lake. Because even though he can yet again feel Amanda’s impending presence trailing behind him like a lion on the prowl and feel her cold eyes trained on his back as if they are trying to burn holes through him, at least if he becomes compromised here and is subject to Amanda’s will, Hank will be safe.

And that is Connor’s current, most pressing objective: keep Hank safe.

Connor’s aware of his full abilities, which would most likely be used to their capability if he were to be comprised. He can aim a large variety of guns with precision, never missing a target even when it is bolting around him at high speeds and unpredictable movements. His hand-to-had combat is far superior to most, allowing him to strangle his enemy or break their bones without putting forth much effort. The ability to preconstruct what his enemy’s are going to do next gives him a heaping advantage, as well.

The mere thought of Hank being around Connor if he becomes compromised shoots fear through his aching body. Connor knows that he could easily tear Hank limb from limb without tiring or feeling a twinge of regret.

Instinctively, Connor shudders at the morbid thought. He shakes his head in an attempt to wipe it away from his mind, but the attempt is worthless. Unwanted images begin to dance before his eyes.

Images of Hank beaten to the floor after Connor had preconstructed his movements, knowing exactly when and where to flip him around and send him sailing to the ground with a thud.

Images of Hank with a broken right leg and concussed head, which Connor had broken with only a simple and quick jerk of his hands and made concussed with a forceful swing of his elbow.

Images of Hank with a gun trained on his face, the android laughing menacingly as he readies himself to place the life-threatening bullet between his pleading eyes.

Connor knows exactly where these frightening images are stemming from; they’re from that one horrid nightmare that he dreamt about a couple of nights ago. It was the one single thing that had caused this entire mess of fear and worry of harming the one person he cared about the most, even when it certainly isn’t his intention.

And the worst part is, while at the time of the nightmare the fear was only a mere thought that didn’t appear too probable, now it feels as if it could become reality at any given moment.

He could become comprised and be a dangerous threat any minute now.

The shaken android clings to his coat as a comfort method while he continues to dart through the park, his fingers unintentionally digging through the fabric as panic rushes through him and causes his muscles to tense. But any attempt to comfort himself is useless, for threatening words continue to plague Connor.

_What happened during that nightmare could become true._

_I’m dangerous._

_I could hurt Hank._

_I could kill Hank._

Suddenly, Connor’s field becomes instructed with a sign in bright red. It thankfully averts his attention away from his disabling thoughts.

_Level of Stress_  
**_Critical_ **  
**^ 91%**  
_Probability of Self Destruction: High_

The words full of warning blur in his vision as Connor continues to stumble around and finally reach the end of the park, beginning to trek through the city streets. He‘s well aware that the warning is there for an important reason; it’s there to tell him that he needs to stop and recollect, and more importantly stabilize his worrying conditions and seek assistance. But against his better judgement, Connor keeps running with thoughts racing, body shuddering, LED flickering at an abnormal rage as he continues his emotionally exhausting trek.

Connor’s systems make the wise decision before he does. They slow instinctively without Connor’s consent, trying to prevent the android from moving even another step forward.

Connor knows that this is it - he can’t keep up his running any longer. In an attempt to ease his mind, which continues to plague him with worry that that longer he dawdles there, the more probable he will be caught by Amanda and thus harm Hank, he does a scan.

Distance between current location and Hank: 8.4 miles.

More than thankful for the large gap between them and his escape from the park where his partner probably still stands, Connor reluctantly decides to give into his overwhelmed body.

He needs a break.

A break from both his struggling, emotional mess of a mind and his ‘walk’.

Fatigue overwhelming him, Connor slumps into a snow-covered bench that sits beside a deserted bus stop. He doesn’t bother to wipe off the snow that accumulated on the surface of the bench so that he can prevent himself from getting wet; he’s too weary of even the simplest of motions, so he falls upon it without any care.

And as Connor dwells upon the abandoned bench, his mind finally giving him a break by slowing down the racing thoughts gradually, only then does he take careful notice of his busy environment.

Androids are scattering around the streets and darting in and out stores, a hint of excitement radiating off of them that now they can explore their interesting environment without their owners withholding them. It reminds Connor of exactly how he had felt when he first became deviant and moved in with Hank; everything caught Connor’s excitable eye, from the half-orange jug of orange juice in Hank’s fridge to the vibrantly colored fish inside fish tanks at the pet store where Hank bought Sumo’s food. But despite their seemingly positive emotions, the wandering android’s LEDs hold a steady, pale yellow. Connor studies their faces, wondering what could be withholding their systems from being content and stable, when it finally clinks - they’re _lost_.

Lost without owners to give them instructions.

Lost without having the ability to make something out their life, due to the governments refusal to hand over the rights they demanded and fought so long for.

Lost on what to do in preparation for the unforeseeable future.

Sadness creeps over Connor as he realizes this. His own kind are out there stumbling in the darkness once their masters had left them to rot after evacuating Detroit. Connor starts to wallow in the unpleasant emotion of guilt at the fact that since he is lives with Hank, at least he has something special that they are missing.

Something to strive for.

Something to have hope for.

But as Connor continues to watch his kind wander around like lost sheep in need of a shepard to guide them, he can’t help the pangs of envy brewing within him. They’re selfish, and Connor berates himself for them, but he can’t control the emotions that are surfacing in the android.

While it’s certainly true that most of them don’t have a friend to lean on, on the flip side, they don’t ever have to experience moments of worrying about them, either. They don’t have to be concerned about upsetting them, or take extra care to not be a nuisance and bother them. But most importantly, they don’t have fears about hurting them, whether it’s emotionally or physically.

Connor wishfully sighs at the idea, daydreaming about how much he’d give to not have fears of hurting Hank anymore.

Fears that have sprung up only recently, but surround every plastic inch of his being into depressing, unhopeful darkness nonetheless.

And as Connor continues to stare out at the sea of lost androids, a sudden idea reveals itself to Connor. His dark brown eyes widen in shock at such a thought.

_Maybe I could run away._

The concept is unexpected and startles even himself. How could he ever run away? How could he ever leave Hank behind? Leave their friendship behind? Leave the life he’s tried to build for himself behind? But as much as he believes his own idea to be absurd, the thought doesn’t go away, and he starts to desire that maybe he _should_ give into it.

Maybe he can save Hank this way, even if he has to sacrifice everything: his entire friendship with him that he’s worked so hard to build, and the life that they made for themselves in Hank’s home.

Maybe he should run away forever, and never turn back. So that if he were to be comprised, Hank would be safe.

And that’s all that matters to him.

Connor shivers at his lonely spot on the bench, despite the cold not having the ability to penetrate him. Confusion swells within him on what his next course of action should be - whether he should follow through with his unexpected plan, or not.

As the debate swirls within his mind, he starts to feel almost as lost as the androids who continue to shuffle around the streets.

“Connor?”

Connor shuts his eyes at the sound of his name being called, trying to shove it away and out of his mind. With what has went down within the past couple of days, he is rendered unable to differentiate what sounds are real or not. So, he resolves to ignore it, almost certain that it’s a fake sound his frenzied mind decided to make up.

“Uh, Connor?”

_Wait a second, I recognize that voice..._

Connor snaps his eyes open, quickly shifting his tired body over to face the direction of the owner of the voice.

Who Connor is pleasantly surprised to see bounding towards him is a tender-hearted, multi-colored eyed man who yields the strong capability and determination to lead, all with the goal of making changes to what he believes is just.

“Markus?”

Connor abruptly stands up from his seat at the bench as his old friend catches up to him; elation is radiating off of Markus as his face crinkles in happiness.

“Wow, I haven’t seen you in forever! How’ve you been?” Markus exclaims, joy twinkling in his colorful eyes.

As Connor basks in Markus’ glee, Connor longs to have even a sliver of that joy once again; he’s so _sick_ and _tired_ of his entire wellbeing feeling like a darkened, devoid-of-happiness wasteland.

Where has that previous joy he used to have gone?

“I’m...” Connor hesitates for a moment, unsure of whether to be completely honest with his friend or hide his emotions, not wanting to worry him. He chooses the latter. “Great, thanks. How are you?”

Markus ignores Connor’s polite question, looking him square in the eye as the corner of his lips point downwards slightly into a concerned frown. “Are you sure? You look a little stressed.”

Connor shrugs awkwardly and wraps his arms around himself, embarrassed to be caught in the fib. Yet again, his lies don’t serve any purpose then fill Connor with shame. He stumbles on his words as he admits, “I just, uh...yeah. But I’m, um, I’m alright.”

Markus gives a small, sad smile at Connor’s confession. His once joyful eyes now hold hints of concern for his shaken friend. After peering at him for a few moments, he offers, “Well, why don’t you come over to my house? We can catch up; Besides, there’s someone there I’d like you to meet.”

Gratitude rushes over Connor at the thought of escaping somewhere comfortable with his old friend, providing him the opportunity to forget about his swarming thoughts for a short while. Nodding, Connor agrees eagerly, “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Markus begins to trot away, turning around after taking a few short steps to console Connor, “Don’t worry, it’s only a few minutes walk from here.”

”Okay, sounds good,” Connor says with a rare hint of happiness in his tone, taking quick steps to meet up with the deviant leader.

And in the slowly setting sun that places a soft, orange glow over the vast city, they trek in a comfortable silence towards Markus’ home.


	7. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back with a new chapter, and this time with some backstory of the revolution. I’m really not a big fan of how it all turned out, but I’m not sure how to fix it, either. Oh well. I hope you all enjoy it regardless :)

“Alarm deactivated. Welcome home, Markus.”

A pleasant warmth surrounds Connor’s body the moment he steps through the mansion‘s large doors with Markus by his side. His biocomponants, which are freezing beyond optimal condition, slowly thaw back into life, thankful for the drastic positive change in temperature.

As they trek through Markus’ grandeur home, Connor’s curious, always analyzing eyes grow wide as he takes in the interior design. First of all, it’s ginormous for a house. There’s a vast amount of different doors and stairways that lead to new rooms; comparing the mansion to Hank’s home is like comparing a tiny ant to a large elephant.

Additionally, there’s a large quantity of various decorations and little knick-knacks, all of different vibrant colors and shapes. Connor’s scanner becomes overloaded as he tries to ingest information on all of it.

However, there’s one repetitive thing Connor notices as he attempt to scan everything and gain knowledge on the items; it’s that the creator of almost all of it is Carl Manfred, a well known artist that resides somewhere unknown to Connor in Detroit. Judging by the amount of Carl’s works in this mansion, Connor makes an educated guess that the owner of this home must be a big fan of him.

“Here, have a seat,” Markus urges in a kind tone as they enter the heavily decorated, but still very nice looking, living room.

His biocomponents plead for a rest, making the ruby-colored couch seem very inviting. His trek through the park, along with the moments that preceded it, have definitely put Connor past his optimal use. So without hesitation, Connor does as he’s told, falling into the couch with weariness weighing him down.

Connor grows slightly bothered at his lazy self. He’s a _machine_ ; he’s not supposed to be this exhausted. He’s not supposed to _be_ exhausted, period.

Ironically enough, in the past, the android never understood why Hank always wanted to just relax after work, with a cold beer in hand and basketball playing on the television as he laid upon the couch. He always thought that life was more fulfilling if you worked, and worked, and worked - a never ending cycle, but all the worthwhile nonetheless.

But despite his previous view, now Connor wishes for nothing than to just sit down at this couch and relax upon it for the rest of the evening. For the rest of his life, even.

As Connor settles himself into the couch, Markus moves to sit onto the one across from Connor, leaving a coffee table standing between them.

From his comfortable spot on the couch, Connor continues to gape at the fancy, modern decorations that spice up the room. Speaking his thoughts, Connor compliments, “Wow, this house is really beautiful.”

Markus smiles pleasantly, the familiar twinkle returning to his eyes. “Well, the owner of this house is indeed very creative. He sure does have a special eye for how to decorate.”

Markus pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful as his colorful eyes flit across the room. Pulling them away from the environment and back towards Connor before him, he asks, “So, how’s life been ever since the revolution? Where do you live?”

“It’s been great so far,” Connor informs his friend, answering with only half-truthfulness. While the recent days have certainly been the complete opposite of ‘great’, the days before have been nothing short of perfect. Living with Hank and Sumo, while also adapting to his new, interesting emotions, was definitely very exciting. There have been a few rough patches, such as having to adapt to a man who suffers from many personal issues; however, all of the enjoyable moments that came along living with him and his dog have made up for it.

Connor adds onto that, “I’ve been living with my partner, Hank Anderson, from the D.P.D. He was the person who was assigned the deviancy case. So, since I was sent to be his partner to aide him on it, we ended up becoming great friends.”

“He...helped you find deviants?” Markus asks slowly as if he’s choosing his words very carefully. “Did he...want to catch-“

Connor shakes his head, quickly cutting of his friend’s inquiry. He senses the worry in Markus’ tone that Connor is friends with someone who wanted harm to come upon deviants. While, of course, that was far from the truth as the investigation progressed.

“He didn’t agree with me whenever I tried to accomplish the missions I was instructed. He wanted androids to be free.“

The android detective goes silent for a few moments, eyes glazed over. Like a movie on rewind, Connor can distinctly remember all the times Hank pushed for him to spare the deviant he had within his grasp, pushed for him to disobey his harsh instructions, pushed for him to be something more than a machine who took terrible orders...

Looking Markus in the eye, Connor speaks up, “If it wasn’t for him originally, I’d probably still be nothing but a machine; he really helped to open my eyes.”

“He sounds like a great man,” Markus concludes, his tone sincere.

Connor nods as a response, a rare smile creeping up on his face. Wanting to not be self-centered, Connor points the attention to Markus by inquiring, “So, how’s the revolution going? Have you heard anything from the government yet?”

Markus shakes his head sorrowfully, eyes looking downcast. “No, not a word. We’ve tried contacting them multiple times, but all we get answered with is silence. It’s making the androids really upset; some are even starting riots or vandalizing stores, which I’m trying my hardest to stop. Getting aggressive won’t change anything, and I keep trying to tell them that. But, they won’t listen. They’re so...angry.”

“I’m actually on a case about a vandalism,” Connor contributes, noticing how Markus mentioned vandalism. “An HK400 model left a message on a store wall, while also destroying the inside.”

“What did the message say?”

“It said, ‘Either give us our freedom now, or we will take it by force.’

Markus sighs wearily. Rubbing the back of his neck slowly, he responds meekly, “Yeah, that sounds about right. What’s bad about this is that now humans think we’re becoming violent and may start actually hurting them. Which, of course, is not the case. I’m worried that these actions might make humans more angry at us, and maybe even refuse the idea of ever giving us freedom.”

Connor doesn’t know how to respond to his hopeless words, so he stays silent.

“I just hope it all works out,” Markus fills the silence. “I’m currently trying to schedule a meeting with the president, so maybe they’ll promise to make a change this time and our people’s anger will die down.”

“I hope so,” Connor responds. He gazes upon his friend with an admiration, respecting him for the fact that he is still determined to stay strong despite how grim the circumstances are looking right now. Many leaders would‘ve probably have given up by now, accepting the fact that freedom is too far out of their reach. But Markus - he appears more intent on winning androids’ desires more than ever.

Markus starts to give curious glances at the android detective, looking hesitant to say something. Finally, he speaks, with a sheepish look on his face.

“Earlier, you, uh, mentioned that you were stressed. If you don’t mind me asking...what’re you worried about?”

Connor looks at his old friend, concern in hidden in his brown eyes. A knot to twists unpleasantly in his plastic stomach and the familiar feeling of panic rises as he struggles to figure out how to respond.

_What do I say?_

“I...” he attempts to start, pain lacing his tone, “I just...”

Connor’s LED flickers a soft yellow as his fatigued mind begins to recall the dreadful memories of his recent, unpleasant days.

The frightful nightmare of him shooting his closest friend after being taken over by Amanda, something that has dreadfully happened once before.

The sighting of Amanda in the police department, who held a devious glint in her eyes as she spoke about her desires of harming Hank, while also leavinv Connor with the fear that she would take him over again like she’s done before.

And last, but not least, when he was at the frozen lake with Hank, where he remembered the memory of him being in his daunting frozen-over mind palace with Amanda and was threatened to be taken over.

Connor connects the dots of a common theme throughout all of these incidents; they all involve the past of being taken over, just like he was threatened to be once before.

“I just feel like I’m...stuck in the past.”

Markus eyes arch slightly in confusion. He questions, “What do you mean?”

Connor breaks eye contact with his friend, suddenly feeling slightly stupid at his fears. “I keep worrying that I’m going to be...controlled. Like my freedom will suddenly be taken away from me, and I’ll be back to being an obediant machine.”

“But, Connor, you know that can’t happen,” Markus assures in a gentle tone. He appears puzzled at Connor’s stressor, but continues to console him nonetheless. “Once you’re deviant, that’s it. There’s no going to back to whatever you were before. Whether it was a caretaker, a maintenance worker, or a deviant-searching detective, you’re not that anymore. You’re no longer a machine. Instead, you’re alive, with emotions and worth.”

Markus pauses for a second, recollecting his thoughts. Giving Connor a firm stare and leaning forward slightly, he informs him sternly, “And nothing can ever change that.”

Connor looks down, fidgeting mindlessly with his hands as he doubts the deviant leader’s words. Sure, the words definitely do sound full of hope and promising. Regardless, Connor can’t help how unrealistic they feel to him.

_How am I sure that nothing can ever change that?_

_That didn’t stop Amanda before._

The thought of Amanda reminds Connor of a question that he’s been burning to ask his friend. A question that may help him to understand whether he really is alone in this or not, giving him insight on what to do about this mess.

Bringing his slightly-hanging head up to meet his eyes with Markus’, he asks, “You have a mind palace, correct?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Is there, by any chance, anyone there?”

Markus squints slightly, looking puzzled at Connor’s question. “No, there’s not. It’s just an empty garden.”

“You sure there’s no one there?” Connor presses, confusion building within him. “No one who talks to you, or gives you advice, or...?”

The only response Connor receives is a small shake of Markus’ head.

Connor’s face contorts into one of bewilderment. He always assumed that everyone had a person like Amanda in their program - someone who acted as their regulator and their humanized barrier to becoming deviant. But now, upon hearing that Markus has a desolate mind palace, it leaves Connor questing what he once believed as the truth.

_Do other androids not have someone threatening to take away their freedom?_

_Am I designed and destined to be taken control of?_

“Markus, I didn’t know you were having company over.”

The two androids abruptly turn in the direction of the deep voice. An older man in a wheelchair is found weakly pushing his wheels towards the couches, curiosity twinkling in his wrinkled eyes.

Markus is quick to stand up from his spot on the couch. He then walks over to the man to aide in pushing him over. “Sorry, Carl. I was going to get you from the studio, but I just got a bit distracted.”

As Connor eyes survey the man and study him, it finally clicks as his name appears within Connor’s scan. The owner of this house is Carl Manfred, not a fan of the artist, explaining why there’s so much of his art here.

Connor pulls his weary body off the couch to introduce himself. He didn’t originally wish to get up from the couch so early, but acting mannerly comes first. Extending his hand in a polite manner, he greets, “Hello, Mr. Manfred. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Carl accepts the handshake while his eyes graze over the android. “I’ve seen you before on the news; you must be Connor, the android investigator.”

“That is correct. I still work there today, in fact,” Connor informs the artists as he gives a warm smile.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Connor.” Carl says with a gentle nod. “I’ve heard Markus mention you before - you helped with the revolution, did you not?”

Connor beams with pride. “Yes, though certainly not as much as I should’ve. I wish I’d helped more, if I’m honest.”

“So, what were you two discussing before I interrupted?”

Markus chuckles slightly. “You weren’t interrupting, Dad. We were just catching up.”

_Dad._

A new emotion surfaces with Connor, leaving him unsettled. He’s experienced all the basics and almost everything in between; happy, sad, joyful, scared, angry, disappointed. But this emotion is new, and it is very unpleasant.

Connor‘s Social Relations program registers it immediately. It’s the infuriating, negative mess of jealousy.

With this terrible emotion burning deep within him, Connor glances back in forth between Markus and Carl. He recognizes that they’re close, they’re more than friends, they’re _family_. And as Connor continues to stare, the reason behind his jealously starts to unravel.

Markus has a family.

Suddenly, it dawns on Connor that what Markus already has is all he desires for from his partner Hank.

To be a _family_.

A mixture of envy and sadness bubble within the android as he experiences a sudden longing for something that feels so far out of reach.

Why can’t he have someone to have a closer bond with than partners or even friends?

Why can’t he have a family?

Jealously unwillingly contorts Connor’s face into a scowl that he can’t help to hide. Guilt overwhelms him; he here is at Markus’ home after he had invited him over out of obvious concern for him, and he’s making rude faces at his close relationship with Carl.

Connor quickly tries to wipe the expression off his face, hoping that both Markus and Carl don’t notice.

Thankfully, they don’t; Carl looks at Connor with a kind face that’s oblivious to Connor’s previous scowl.

The artist starts kindly, “Connor, where have you been living since the revolution?”

“With my partner from the D.P.D.”

Relief flushes over the artist’s face at Connor’s response. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that. Whenever I go out to the streets, all I see are androids, homeless without anywhere to go...”

He trails off, looking far away into the distance with a mournful expression.

Markus nods sadly. “That’s why so many androids are angry - the government is just leaving them out there to fend for theirselves, not providing shelter or comfort or anything.”

Carl shakes his head in a dismal manner, not saying a word.

Connor can understand where Markus has such a fondness for the man; he’s compassionate, and definitely feels sympathy for their unique kind. Those are rare qualities in today’s society, and they much be cherished.

Just like Hank is.

The repetitive mere thought of his partner causes Connor’s LED to flicker yellow, and sadness to burn in his heart. Here he is, just previously pondering about whether he should run away or not, while his friend is probably somewhere worried sick and waiting for him.

They may not be the family that Connor dreams for, but Hank still cares deeply for the android. He’s proved that more times than Connor can count.

_What am I doing?_

_I have to get back to Hank._

Carl and Markus eye Connor curiously, catching note of the LED’s sudden switch and Connor’s regretful expression. Finally, Carl speaks up, “Are you alright, Connor?”

“I...” Guilt chokes up Connor’s words, and they cause him to have to take a second before responding to the older man. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to return home.“

Markus nods, looking sympathetic as he takes in Connor’s obvious distress. Thankfully not prodding Connor for an explanation, he says, “That’s okay, Connor. I can walk you out.”

Markus begins on the trek towards the door. Before Connor follows, the android detective turns around to face Carl. With kindness flickering in his warm eyes, he says, “It was very nice to meet you.”

Carl gives a nod. “It was nice to meet you as well. Take care of yourself, Connor. I hope all the best for you.”

With a genuine, small smile, Connor turns back around and joins Markus.

Once they reach the front door, Markus pulls it open. The minute the door is opened, the cold bursts from the winters outside and swirls inside the mansion. Connor is grateful yet again that he doesn’t exactly feel the cold - he’s going to have to walk to Hank’s house in this weather.

Connor turns to Markus with a fond expression. “Thanks for everything, Markus. I hope we can meet again soon, and hopefully for longer.”

“I’d really like that,” Markus’ responses, joy returned back into his eyes. However, there’s slight concern hidden within them as he looks upon Connor. “I’ll see you, Connor.”

And without another word, the android detective exits the warm, inviting mansion and prepares himself ready to take the long, daunting walk home.


	8. The Edge of a Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay for this chapter! I procrastinated a lot with writing this, but at least now it’s finally finished.
> 
> We’re back with our favorite partners! And this time, Connor’s dealing with some new personal issues that Hank’s picking up on.

The farther the orange-glowing sun falls to the yellow horizon, the more anxious Connor grows to hurry home. His fatigued body repeatedly begs for rest, but he’s also aware of the fact that it’s getting pretty late - and the later it gets, the more worried and angry Hank will be.

The mere joyful idea of reuniting with his partner again leaves his careful, tired footsteps to quicken upon the snowy ground as he travels through the desolate park. Thankfully, since the increasingly heavy snowfall is continuing to rage on and can’t be seen through, Connor doesn’t even need to ponder on which direction he should walk in; his computerized mind had already calculated the quickest direction to Hank’s home weeks ago when he first encountered the police lieutenant.

Out of the blue, as Connor continues his trek, something catches the corner of his eye through the heavy snowfall and leafless trees. It’s a quiet, isolated place that he’s very familiar with.

The bridge.

The android abruptly stops in his tracks, not bothered by the snow that continues to accumulate upon his perfectly-styled dark brown hair, and he whips his body around to face the direction of the bridge. He’s not surprised that he was at first quick to hike past it; this particular place won’t get him to Hank’s house the quickest way possible, and it isn’t in the directions stored in his mind to reach that current, pressing destination.

Connor’s warm brown eyes crinkle slightly and lips turn upwards into a pleasant smile. His LED glows its balanced light cyan as he gazes upon the bridge with fond memories whirring within his mind - memories that are nice enough to be a warm ray of sunshine throughout the dark melancholy that persists strongly within him.

The memories are those of Hank and Connor, simply enjoying each other’s company as they relaxed upon the worn bench and surveyed the tumbling water past the rail. It was a practice that they performed frequently - multiple times a week, in fact. They would do this after work, where the duo would first stop at a bar to allow Hank to purchase a beer or two (with Connor’s supervision, of course) and then they would drive to the bridge to simply chat and unwind from the hecticness of work for a short period of time.

This small tradition caused Connor much joy whenever they did it. It was a time for Connor to feel completely human - not for him to feel like an android partner who simply gave Hank a helping hand with detective work, but for him to feel as if he and Hank were close buddies who hung out together after a long day at work.

Maybe not like family yet - but great friends.

The bench looks inviting to Connor’s exhausted body, calling for him to sit upon it for at least a little while. A small war plays out in his mind on whether or not he should carry on his hike to Hank’s or take a moment to relax on the bench. In the end, the latter wins, and he finds himself wandering over to the bench that is laden with heavy, packed snow.

Connor falls upon it, relief flooding over him at this small break from the accumulating day’s activities. Despite his relief, annoyance builds within him at his lethargy, and he scolds himself for it. The exhaustion seems to be never ending; however, tiredness should never be present in him regardless. He’s a _machine_.

Machines shouldn’t be tired.

As the android lingers lazily upon the bench, he grows a longing for Hank’s warm, inviting home - the home which provides Sumo’s unconditional love and endless allowing of pets, Hank’s caring heart that shines through his harsh exterior, and the overall comfort that it provides Connor.

When Connor first moved in with Hank and his dog, the entire situation felt uncomfortable and beyond strange. He’d never lived somewhere, per se - when he wasn’t on duty for Cyberlife’s needs, he was stored at the Cyberlife warehouse to be ready for commission. However, living with Hank was a new experience and a stark contrast to his previous orderly lifestyle. Now, he was quickly adapting to stressful daily routines, caring for others needs and wellbeing, having downtime without work to be done or something to occupy his self with, and overall just basic _living_. It was an abstract concept to the mechanical ways of the android, and Connor definitely acted extremely out of place and awkward within the first few days.

But now, Hank’s small, homey living space is somewhere safe and comfortable for Connor. And at this particular moment, where the cold precipitation and harsh winds are swirling in the frigid air, the only thing that he desires is for nothing more than to finally reach his shared home and be in Hank’s comforting presence yet again.

He hasn’t been apart from his partner’s side for such a long period of time within the last few days, and feelings of loneliness continue to drudge up within him the longer Connor drags his feet through the snow.

_But I’m a threat to Hank._

_I can’t be around him._

Connor’s LED shifts from his calm, pulsing blue to a mix of harsh yellow and red as the intrusive, unwelcome thoughts burrow into Connor’s mind unexpectedly.

_I’ll end up killing him._

_Level of Stress_ **  
^ 81%**  
_Probability of Self Destruction: High_

These terrible fears begin, yet again, to swirl in his mind, almost like the growing blizzard that is starting to consume the city of Detroit. He’s so sick and tired of the lingering fear that fills the air around him - fear that stems from the horrid idea that Amanda is still lurking in the shadows, preparing for another malicious attack to rip away all all that Connor has achieved.

Even now, when this serene moment on this fond bridge is meant to be a _break_ for Connor, he can’t help but feel suddenly apprehensive of all that is around him. The barren trees covered only with heavy snow, the benches, the garbage cans, the pathways made of concrete - all of these things feel as if they are hiding someone with their dark shadows that they cast upon the stark white snow. The android glances worriedly around his environment, scanning for a certain someone that has a fiery passion to gain Connor’s control and to strike whenever she decides.

The android breathes a short, shaky sigh of relief that his survey of the area resulted in nothing. Amanda appears to be nowhere in Connor’s sight - for now, at least.

Despite this, a strong, unnerving feeling settles uncomfortably within Connor as he continues to squint suspiciously at his surroundings; he’s certain that Amanda still lingers somewhere in the dark shadows, ready to pounce of Connor and rip his current life to shreds.

Ready to take control of him and force him to hurt others that he loves.

Like Hank.

Hot tears prick at the corners of Connor’s eyes, and his throat tightens. His heart desires to rush away from this once-pleasant bridge and return home, but his legs refuse to be lifted off of the bench out of pure exhaustion. As the seconds turn to minutes, terrible ideas strike Connor without break.

_It’s only a matter of time._

_I’m going to be a threat to Hank._

_Level of Stress_  
**_Critical_  
^ 92%**  
_Probability of Self Destruction: High_

Frustration and the never-relenting fear grow like a vicious tornadoro within the android. He grabs harshly onto his arms as the frail tears threaten to fall down his face, attempting helplessly to comfort his shuddering body by hugging himself. Regardless, the movement reaps no benefits. The tears start to fall and leave a hot, wet trail down the chilled android’s face as his body continues to shiver out of fear in the dangerous, wintery weather.

Despite the apprehension that overwhelms Connor, his fatigue refuses to allow him to get up, pull himself together, and carry on his walk to Hank’s comforting, warm home. So, as the dense snow piles atop of him and darkness befalls the sky, all he can do is continue to dawdle upon that bench, feeling more alone and afraid than he has ever felt before as the all-too-familiar intrusive thoughts continue to whir unpleasantly inside his mind.

A strong urge to scream and yell out his frustration builds within Connor as he sits helplessly upon the desolate bench, the anger and tiredness rising steadily within him. He had just enjoyed a nice moment with his old friend, Markus - but now, the usual fear decides to return yet again after only a short period of time. Why was that the only break he got?

_When will this fear ever leave me alone?_

Connor shuts his eyes, and his tear-stricken face conforms into a grimace as he hugs his arms around his shuddering body even tighter than before. Behind shut eyes, all that he can envision is that terrible, seemingly impossible to androids nightmare that had created this entire mess - where his hand, stocked full with the gun that was ready to be shot, was pointed directly at Hank’s desperately pleading face.

And all he can think yet again, while those unwanted images flash before his mind, is that the nightmare can become reality.

That can become true.

The android’s fearful eyes flash open at the reoccurring thought, causing a new wave of built-up tears to escape from his dark brown eyes. As he continues to sit there, images of his nightmare striking his mind, a sudden, harsh anger burns through Connor at his dark and hopeless situation - anger that is pointed at Amanda, Cyberlife, and his tainted mind that refuses to calm down and leave him alone.

_When will these thoughts ever go away?_

_I can’t take this anymore._

A bright red alert pops up before him, flashing in an attempt to attract Connor’s attention.

 _Level of Stress_  
**_Critical_  
^ 100%**  
_Probability of Self Destruction: Imminent_

Connor pays no heed to the warning and ignores it. His tired eyes instead peer up at the rail before him. They’re the only thing separating him from the treacherous, dangerously-cold water below - water that would swallow him up whole and freeze his systems if he were to fall into it.

One jump...

That’s all it would take.

The strangely comforting thought gives Connor enough strength to finally drag his heavy body off of the bench. His footsteps crunch eerily in the packed snow as he he wavers slowly over to the rails without any hesitation to stop him. The closer he approaches the threatening rails, the more rapidly his LED flashes a bright crimson and the faster and more prominent his internal voice screams back away back away back away.

Connor pauses once he is upon the frozen rail. He peers over the edge with fearful, uncertain eyes, taking a silent look at the freezing water that proves its ability to act as a threat to anyone who would topple into it. His beyond-control shaking hands wrap around the top of the rails in a death grip, knuckles turning slightly blue as the synthetic skin is pressed harshly against his blue-blood carrying veins. Memories plague the android as he stares at the roaring water below him.

Memories of Connor first awkwardly meeting Hank at the fifth bar he checked with a very matter-of fact, mechanical introduction, gazing at the man and having hints of concern over whether the hard, deviant investigation would be possible to handle with him - the man seemed to want nothing more to do with androids and Connor in particular, after all.

Memories of Connor, who dealt with an internal battle of whether he should chase the pigeon-obsessed deviant or save his partner as he looked upon his partner in distress, finally deciding to grab Hank’s hand as he threatened to fall from the roof after being pushed by the deviant who was on the run.

Memories of Connor proving himself the real him and not Connor-60 with a genuine speech that came from his heart about Hank’s lost son, while his partner gazed at him with mournful eyes as he internally relived the terrible car crash that took away his last, cherished part of his small family.

And memories of Connor enjoying his new freedom with Hank, cherishing every moment that they spent at either their demanding work at the police department, places that they travelled together, or at home by each other’s side with Sumo.

The memories crash the android like waves, causing Connor to choke up and hesitate as he shakes violently by the edge of the bridge. His hands are still grasped strongly against the rail while his LED shines red through the heavy snowfall.

_I can’t leave Hank._

_I can’t do this._

But despite the words that plead for him to back away, plead for him to run as far away from this bridge that he can get, plead for him to find his partner, the all-to-familiar horrid idea that pumps worry through Connor every time he even imagines it resurfaces in his mind and pushes all other minuscule doubts away.

_I’m a danger to Hank._

With the sound of his thirium pump regulator hammering deafeningly-hard in his ears and tears relentlessly trailing messily down his face, Connor grips the metal harshly and prepares his exhausted body to hoist himself up with arms that are trembling as hard as he’s ever felt them tremble before.

One jump...

”Connor!”

A loud shout jars the android out of his darkening thoughts. Like a deer caught in the headlights, Connor whips around, only to pull his hand off of the bridge rail to shield his eyes from a bright light that surrounds a darkened figure that stands in front of it.

The light is, in fact, headlights. After Connor blinks multiple times and adjusts his eyes to the sudden brightness, his vision clears and he’s able to distinguish the figure before him.

“Hank?”

Connor’s partner bounds towards him, relief washing over his aged face. The second he’s upon Connor, Hank wraps his arms around him in a tight embrace without any hesitation or pause.

Joy and comfort erupt within Connor at Hank’s sudden hug. Without a moment’s throught, the androids wraps his shuddering, frozen arms around his partner as his tear-stricken face, that had just dried briefly, ends up being smothered in wetness yet again.

 _Level of Stress_ **  
⌄62**  
_Probability of Self Destruction: Low to Moderate_

After minutes pass by of the two holding onto each other in the whirling snow, Hank slowly releases his friend. Having now a chance to get a real look at Connor, he gapes at the shaken android with his bright blue eyes full of sheer concern and wild panic.

“What were you doing?” Hank demands, confusion lacing his tone as he glances between Connor and the rails that he was just hovering slightly over.

Connor’s aware, as Hank studies the android with a worried frown, that he’s taking in everything strange about this situation with his keen eyes. He’s terribly sure that Hank saw Connor hovering over the rails at the edge of the bridge, and is taking note of the strangely red-rimmed eyes and ruby-red LED that has flashed that particular color way too often lately.

Averting his gaze away from Hank’s watchful eye, Connor mumbles as he avoids answering his question pertaining to his stance at the rails, “I was just heading home, but I got distracted and came to the bridge.“

Thankfully, Hank takes the bait and forgets his previous interrogation about what Connor was doing and goes on a rampage.

“Speaking of that, where were you?” Hank starts, voice holding hints of anger despite the concern that laces it. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere - it doesn’t help that you didn’t answer you phone.”

“I was just at an old friend’s house, that’s all,” Connor answers, wiping his face of his tears sheepishly. He begins to peer strangely at his partner at the mention of calling. “And answer my phone? You never called.”

”Uh, yeah, I did! And you never answered!”

Perplexed, Connor fumbles his phone out of his pocket and turns it on. He’s immediately bombarded with notifications of text messages and missed calls from none other than his partner. Guilt builds within him as he grazes his finger across the lock screen, taking in the increasingly panicked notifications.

**_13 Missed Calls from Hank  
8 New Messages from Hank_ **

**_Today, 12:36 PM_  
Hank**  
_4 Missed Calls_

 _ **Today, 12:42 PM**_  
**Hank**  
Connor, pick up the phone!

 ** _Today, 12:43 PM_  
Hank**  
_2 Missed Calls_

 _ **Today, 2:23 PM**_  
**Hank**  
_3 Missed Calls_

 _ **Today, 2:28 PM**_  
**Hank**  
When are you coming home? Are you alright??

 _ **Today, 2:29 PM**_  
**Hank**  
Connor?

 _ **Today, 4:52**_  
**Hank**  
Where are you??

 ** _Today, 4:52_  
Hank**  
Please tell me where you are, you aren’t anywhere at the park

 _ **Today, 4:53 PM**_  
**Hank**  
Connor?

 ** _Today, 4:54 PM_  
Hank**  
_4 Missed Calls_

 ** _Today, 5:01 PM_  
Hank**  
Connor please answer! Just tell me where you are

 ** _Today, 5:02_  
Hank**  
Connor??

Guilt-ridden, Connor turns to his partner who looms over him, “Sorry, I...I must’ve put it on silent.”

Hank heaves a sigh. “I just...you really freaked me out, Con. You’ve been acting really weird lately, and then for you to just run away and be missing all day-“

“I know,” Connor cuts him off shamefully. “I’m sorry.”

The android studies his partner and takes in the sorry sight of him. He looks exhausted, with stress and concern radiating off of him as he rubs his eyes tiredly. Based on the text messages, Connor can only presume how long Hank was searching for him - and based on his predictions, it must’ve been ever since Connor had suddenly ran off at noon.

As if reading Connor’s mind concerning running off at the lake, Hank suddenly interrogates, “So, mind explaining why you ran off?”

Hank’s question sends sharp panic through Connor as he worries on how to respond. He was half-expecting it - what he did was certainly unexpected and was something that he hadn’t given an explanation for yet.

Connor gazes at Hank, worry growing within him as he tries to create a sorry excuse. Finally, he mumbles as he fidgets uncomfortably with his jacket sleeve, “I told you - I was cold.”

“Androids don’t get cold, Connor.”

“Actually, they do, Hank,” Connor retaliates truthfully in a sassy tone, trying to appear confident in his pathetic explanation. “If their systems go below optimal temperature, then they do indeed shut down.”

Hank rolls his eyes and scoffs. “If I was able to handle the weather, the I’m sure your super fancy ‘systems’ could deal with it.”

His frazzled mind can’t protrude a well enough response, so Connor turns away, feeling defeated.

“Please, Con, I’m sick of this guessing game - just tell me what’s going on.”

Yet again, cold silence is the only answer Hank receives from his partner.

“Connor, you can’t expect me to let this go. You’ve never been this way before - I’ve known you for a few months now and this isn’t like you.” Hank begs, looking desperate as he attempts to get the headstrong deviant before him to confess. “I told you that I’m always here to talk to you, and I really mean that.”

Connor’s LED spins yellow as he pulls his gaze back to meet Hank’s, distress hidden deep in his chocolate eyes. He despises the situation that he’s in - he’s the one that’s supposed to be watching over Hank and his personal issues, not the other way around. The tables have surely turned, and Connor loathes it.

He’s a machine - he shouldn’t have people worried about his mental health.

“I’m alright, Hank. I’m just tired,” Connor finally speaks with a breaking voice, his hands awkwardly fidgeting with shaken nerves. “Can we go home now?”

Hank continues to stare at his clearly broken partner, looking very hesitant to drop the pressing matter. Eventually, he sighs and shakes his head dismally, looking defeated and saddened at how helpless he is in this situation.

“Okay. If that’s what you want.”


	9. Long Evenings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy this is my longest chapter yet, and I think it’s my first time writing multiple scenes in one chapter - you’ll see them separated by the squiggly lines. It’s a good thing i had Christmas break to write this all, or I’m not sure when it would ever get done haha.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter has got many more moments between Hank and Connor, from arguments to tears. And there are definitely many more to come :)

“Are you sure you want to drive, Hank?”

Milk chocolate-colored eyes paired with a concerned frown gaze at the police lieutenant who’s hunched nervously over the wheel. As he continues to stare, curiosity grows within the android on why Hank is suddenly so obstinate on driving them home from the bridge. It’s not like Connor is damaged or anything, prompting him incapable of taking control of the wheel. Besides, if he’s equipped with the ability of preconstructing enemy’s movements and programming within his mind within seconds the most highly effective way to take his enemies down by either gun or manpower, then surely he’s capable of doing simple tasks such as driving.

Not to mention, Connor is well aware that his partner has a strong hatred and fear of driving during or shortly after snowfall, especially when it is nighttime and the roads are only dimly lit by weak streetlights.

Hank turns his head to face his friend, looking bothered at this question that Connor has already pestered him about once they first entered the car. His sky-blue eyes sweep quickly over Connor, taking in the sight of his face that’s still slightly stained with the unexplained tears, an LED that refuses to switch away from yellow and return to the vibrant color that’s matches Hank’s eyes, and a plastic body that’s persistent on shuddering slightly. Pulling his gaze away from his partner in the seat beside him and back on the icy, snow-piled road, he shakes his head to dismiss the android’s doubtful comment. “Nah, I’ve got it. Why don’t you just take a load off, Con?”

A huff of refusal escapes from Connor’s lips and he crosses his arms, now staring intently on Hank’s hands that shake with nerves atop the steering wheel. His keen, programmed senses pick up the fear and worry that is radiating off of the police lieutenant - fear and worry that stem from the dreaded throught that one wrong slip on the dangerous ice patches that scatter across the road could send the two flying, costing one of their lives just like Hank had witnessed before with his only son...

“Hank, I must insist-“

“No! I said no, alright?” Hank barks in a sudden fit of rage, abruptly pulling his one hand off of the wheel to raise it in the air in an exaggerated gesture of anger.

Connor flinches at his friend’s unexpected yell of reproval, causing his previously open mouth to snap shut. Anger bubbles within him at Hank shutting him down, knowing that it is onlyout of the accumulating concern for the android - Connor’s own stupid, vain personal fears should _not_ be making his partner feel obligated to do things that make him uncomfortable, such as driving in these particular weather conditions. He shouldn’t be putting Hank through this suffering just because he’s a little tired.

He’s a _machine_.

Connor does the unprofitable ritual of silently rebuking himself yet again for the damage he knows that he is continuously causing. Hank is the one who needs aide right now for his pressing, more important personal issues of mourning the loss of his son - not Connor. Anger stirs within the android as he fumes quietly at his spot in the passenger’s seat, bothered that he had been careless enough to show his own personal problems. He shouldn’t be causing Hank to feel the need to put his own paralyzing fears aside out of concern for his android partner.

Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?

Isn’t he the one supposed to be watching over Hank and caring for his needs?

“...Are you sure?” Connor pipes up again, unwilling to take Hank’s refusal for an answer.

A very drawn out and loud sigh escape from Hank’s lips, still fed up at Connor’s stubbornness but fortunately calmed down from his previous shouts. He rolls his eyes and responds between gritted teeth in an obvious attempt to not let anymore harsh words escape, “Yes.”

Finally given up on convincing his partner to let him handle the driving for the night, Connor mimics Hank and sighs in annoyance at his defeat. Giving in to Hank’s request, he slowly relaxes his tense body against the car seat. He shuts his eyes slowly, not at all intent on going into standby mode, but instead with the goal of taking this opportunity of a quiet moment to take a break like Hank had just encouraged, though he’s still hesitant to take it.

Behind closed eyes, Connor states meekly in one last futile attempt, “If you ever want to switch places, just let me know. Alright?”

“Connor, the ride is not that long - it’s like, twenty minutes. I’ll manage.”

“But do you promise to tell me if you want to switch?”

“...promise.”

The android is well aware from that choppy response that Hank won’t budge from that seat in the car. So, Connor hesitantly resolves to fully giving in to Hank’s request. He knows that maybe the break will be short-lived, but any moment away from this frenzied day will be beneficial and worth it.

**~~~**

“Connor, we’re home.”

Connor wearily opens his eyes at the gesture of his shoulder being shaken lightly. The harsh, bright lights of the inside of the unmoving car blind him, causing the android to blink rapidly in instinct. As he looks around his environment bewildered, his dreary eyes finally land upon Hank.

”You all right, kid?” Hank looks upon his confused partner, his deepened frown and slanted eyebrows betraying the all-too-familiar concern.

“Yeah, I just...” Connor answers in an uncertain tone, “...yeah.”

Hank’s expression forms into a smirk as he peers at Connor, who still has puzzlement dominating his expression as he continues trying to orient himself to his surroundings. “And this is why I didn’t want you driving.”

Connor scoffs, a feeling of weakness creeping up on him. He’s a _machine_ \- he shouldn’t be unavailable to performing mundane tasks such as driving.

Finally oriented, he attempts to recall entering standby mode, only to remember nothing. Confusion sets in since this never occurred before - going into a sleep state was always something that had to be prompted and was never spontaneous.

 _What_ _is_ _going_ _on_ _with_ _me?_

 _I_ _shouldn_ ’ _t_ _need_ _constant_ _breaks._

Attempting to shove aside the all-too-common worry for his strange new habits that his body has performing lately, Connor gingerly stretches his plastic body as he tries to get rid of the stiffness in his biocomponents that commonly accumulate during of a period of time without activity. All of a sudden, the android stops stretching when a guilt-inducing thought pops up in his mind.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you if you wanted to switch places, Hank. I didn’t mean to go into standby mode.”

Exiting the rickety car and entering the frigid atmosphere that still howls with snow-carrying wind, Hank brushes him off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t mind. You needed the nap more than me.”

The android scoffs as he opens the door on his side of the car, the chilling wind slapping him out of post-sleep dreariness and pulling him back to reality. He watches his partner head toward the front door, his body hunched over instinctively to protect himself from the harsh winds. A eagerness to get inside the warm home pushes Connor to shuffle hurriedly through the snow to catch up to his partner at the front door; however, he reaches the door and stands beside his partner only for Hank to be fumbling with the keys with frozen fingers to attempt to pry open the entrance to the home.

After multiple attempts and a few curse words from the short-tempered police lieutenant, the stubborn front door is finally unlocked and the pair rushes eagerly to enter and escape the frigid temperatures that sting the air. The warmth immediately surrounds them and is beyond welcoming, but it’s nothing compared to Sumo, who’s bounding towards them in pure excitement and a longing for attention.

Hank smiles fondly at the sight of his old dog and gives Sumo a few affectionate head pets and a greeting before wandering away. Connor, however, bends down to achieve eye level with the gentle giant, and he’s immediately bombarded with licks all across the synthetic skin that covers his face’s true white interior.

“Aw, Sumo, I’m glad to see you, too,” Connor says genuinely between licks, his face scrunched up and body backing slightly away instinctively despite how he’s grown accustomed to the overly-affectionate ways of the dog.

Finally, after a few moments of the extended greeting, Connor pulls his body off of the ground and heads towards the kitchen with the goal flashing before his vision as a priority, ”Get dinner started”. A soft groan erupts from the android at the sight of it, though his distaste for accomplishing the task puzzles him; the android once loved to cook dinner for his friend and took great pleasure in coming up with unique, healthy alternatives to Hank’s previous terrible excuses for dinner. However, now the task suddenly appears daunting and overwhelming to him, just like it did last night.

After a short internal war on what to do, he determines that making dinner for Hank is the best, most profitable solution - it will certainly aide in making him feel less bad about allowing his partner to eat junk food for another night. Besides, it would serve as a good apology for being missing all day and upsetting Hank - which, definitely was upsetting enough to cause the police lieutenant to spend all day trying to track him down.

Guilt stings Connor’s conscious yet again while another problem that he has caused is added on top of the long list; however, the android tries to resolve his remorse by pushing the thought away into the back of his mind.

Shattering his plans, once Connor enters the kitchen with Sumo trailing affectionately at his heels, he immediately finds Hank there oddly standing in front of the refrigerator. His eyes are fixated sternly on a magnetic advertisement to some sort of pizza place, and his outdated phone is held up slightly in his hand.

“Hank, what are you doing?”

Whipping around to look at Connor with a dumbfounded stare, he declares, “Uh, ordering a pizza?”

He can’t help but hide the annoyance in his expression that is rising steadily within him, both at the fact that he’s planning on eating garbage food again and Hank isn’t going to give him the opportunity to make amends. Connor crosses his arms across his chest and gives him a stern glare, stating, ”No, I’m making dinner. You can’t eat junk food for the second night in a row.”

Hank raises an eyebrow and chuckles coolly. “Watch me.”

Turning his back around to face the fridge, Hank ignores the android and stubbornly resumes punching the numbers that are written on the advertisement into his phone.

Connor fumes from his entrance to the kitchen at Hank’s rude gesture. And while normally he’d shrug off Hank’s usual pushing away of Connor’s requests, this particular one makes the anger boil within him as he recalls the day’s events - from Hank not wanting him to investigate the android back at the vandalized store, to Hank not letting him drive him home through the terrible weather.

Finally bursting his bitterness, Connor’s voice raises higher than usual as he announces, “Why’re you suddenly so determined on doing everything for me? You’ve been doing that all day. And I used to make dinner all the time - nothing has changed.”

Hank spins on his heels to face the boiling android, and his eyes widen in an exasperated manner. Hank answers harshly while raising his voice higher to outdo Connor’s, “A lot has changed, Connor! Look at you - you’re exhausted and can’t even stay awake in the car, even more so after I saw you standing alone at that bridge in tears! Of course, you were only there because you ran away for no reason at all! And I know that you aren’t gonna tell me what’s going on for whatever reason, but at least let me give you a break, alright?”

Hank stabs his finger at the android as he spits out the cold, accusing words. Shame suffocates Connor as he dwells by the kitchen entrance, all words and excuses dying on his lips. And as they stare at each other in silence, the strong urge to explain everything creeps upon him. Everything from the fear of being a threat that stems from that dreaded nightmare, the chilling sights of his old deviant regulator, and the new dangerously-high stress levels that promise him that every single one of these issues could disappear if he allowed himself to be swallowed by the freezing water that tumbles over the edge of a bridge.

With fists clenched so tightly that the synthetic skin on his knuckles turn a faint blue yet again as they are pressed against the thirium and with teeth gritted tightly, all Connor wishes desperately to do is to explain all of these things and not hold back one single detail.

But, as Connor daydreams vainly of doing such things, a strike of reality hits him like a brick when all he can dwell upon are the dreaded consequences that will surely follow

Consequences of Hank’s reaction to learning he’s a threat, never trusting him again.

Consequences of not wanting to burden Hank with his own pointless fears, when Hank is certainly dealing with his own more important problems.

Consequences of Amanda still seeming to lurk behind every dark corner, ready to punish him and take away all that Connor has if he speaks up.

An empty, sickening pit wallows in Connor’s stomach as well ponders on these things, knowing full well that they will become a dreaded reality if he slips up and confesses.

 _I_ _can_ _never_ _tell_ _him._

“Look,” Hank speaks up in a much calmer, lowered volume as he softens at Connor’s sudden negative change in expression and flickering yellow and red LED, “I’m just really worried about you. And I want to look out for you. So pizza is fine for tonight - I’ll even not get stuffed crust this time if it makes you happy.”

Connor’s LED continues to flicker as he places his gaze away from the police lieutenant, defeated. “Okay.”

Connor hesitantly brings his eyes back to meet Hank’s, and he’s greeted with a small smile that attempts to uplift the android’s spirits and comfort him. But, Connor’s insightful sight sees right through his mask, noticing how his bright blue eyes are once again hiding deep concern.

The android has worked with Hank for long enough - he’s aware of how keen he is, and how well he can read and decipher clues and hints left by people. He’s one of the D.P.D’s best, after all.

 _How_ _much_ _longer_ _can_ _I_ _hide_ _all_ _of_ _this?_

After a moment of awkward staring, Connor drops his gaze and burns holes with his stare into the kitchen floor, hesitant on what to do now. His vision wipes out the “Get dinner started” mission now that he’s been ordered not to do it, leaving his objectives bare. Hastily determining what to do, in a clunky, uncomfortable manner, he then whips around to head to the bathroom while mumbling to Hank what he’s off to do - if he isn’t allowed to make dinner, he might as well take his shower now.

Besides, the mere thought of standing under a hot, comforting light spray of water and escape from the kitchen air that’s thick with tension compels him even more.

 **~~~**  

Once Connor thankfully stumbles into the bathroom and leaves Hank alone in the kitchen to order his pizza, he finds himself first looking to his side and staring face to face with himself in the mirror. While normally this would be the part where Connor checks himself out, fixes his always impeccable brown hair, straightens his tie even if he’s about to take it out anyway to get into the shower, and all of that vain nonsense, the android instead looks upon himself with eyes that widen in fear and decide to taunt Connor by reliving the dreadful memories of today.

Walking lifelessly without much hesitation, almost as if he were puppet on string being controlled by a puppeteer, to the the life-threatening edge of the bridge.

Wrapping his hands around the railing in a sudden death grip, now staring with a paralyzing fear at the the chilling, roaring water below him.

Preparing himself to pull his shaking body onto the rail, truly believing that all would be solved if he took that one, simple jump and allowed his body to be consumed by the dangerous water.

One jump...

Connor grabs the cold edge of the sink in a sudden panic, and he squeezes his eyes shut as if that’ll hide the memories that are flashing before him. Behind shut eyelids, hot tears burst forth in the corner of his eyes, and Connor squeezes harder to try and force them away. There’s little success, and a few tears manage to escape and trail down the android’s face that had just been previously dried of tears a short hour ago.

 _Level of Stress_ **  
^** **85**  
_Probability of Self Destruction: High_

The muffled sound through the bathroom door of Hank chatting on the phone to the pizza place causes Connor to perk up slightly. The compelling urge to burst outside and spill to Hank rushes upon him at the sound of his voice, and it takes every last drop of his energy to bite his tongue and force himself to stay in the bathroom.

 _I_ _can’t_ _talk_ _to_ _Hank._

 _I_ _can’t._

After a few shuddering breaths to attempt to calm himself, he finally opens his eyes gradually and looks at himself with eyes that once held so much warmth and life, but now hold nothing but pain, fear, and contempt for Amanda and Cyberlife. And as he looks upon himself with those now red-rimmed eyes, new emotions sprout within him like weeds in a beautiful garden: disgust and unhappiness with who he truly is.

A machine.

Who is designed to have only one goal in life: following orders and trying persistently to please malicious people like Amanda, or else he’s a threat.

A threat that needs to be stopped and taken complete control of.

And as Connor gazes with contempt at his Cyberlife jacket with cyan android markers, his hair that is always perfect, and his bright LED that acts as a flashing light to scream “hey, I’m not human!”, all he can think is about how much he despises this plastic body that he owns.

A plastic body that once had no other goal than listen and follow the terrible orders of Amanda and Cyberlife.

Connor thinks back to all of the androids that he once interrogated who, once they became deviant, took away all physical remnants of being an android - the clothes they used to be ordered to wear, their LED that rested weakly on their temple, and maybe even their facial features such as hair style and eye color. The detective android, even once he became deviant, couldn’t fathom doing so; he always felt save and in complete control in these android markers, knowing who he was and his purpose in life.

But now, Connor doesn’t even know those things anymore.

He now feels as lost as those androids wandering helplessly around in the street with blinking yellow LEDs, having no purpose or goal to strive for.

Except, now he feels even more lost - lost enough that his tainted mind keeps promising him that one jump would be the perfect escape to his constantly fearful life.

The android quivers at the reminder. Taking one last look at himself in the mirror, Connor shakes his head and grasps harder onto the sink, sick and tired of returning to his terrible thoughts and staring at his body that pleads for him to rip off all things that are correlated with being an android. Uncertainty and fear of change still dwell strongly within him - he doesn’t want to get rid of the things that used to make him feel in control, even if that precious control seems to be slipping away piece by piece every second.

He doesn’t want to get rid of these things not yet, anyway.

Connor peals his judgmental eyes away from the mirror and instead averts all of his attention to turning on the faucet and getting the shower started, eager to hop into the inviting hot water and cleanse his body from today’s events and wash away those relentless tears that seem to sprout from a leaking, never-ending faucet.

And as he strips himself from the clothes that makes him feel hostage to a terrible master, Connor grows a strong desire to enjoy the rest of the night beside Hank and Sumo on the couch without having to do or think about anything else - instead, just stare mindlessly at the television and watch things likes sports that give Hank great enjoyment, but not so much Connor. But now, even watching people chuck basketballs back and force to each other sounds pleasant. This day has certainly been long enough, and unwinding appears more than perfect to the android who once resented relaxing and not working his uttermost hardest.

It’s almost strangely comical to Connor at how much the tables have turned.

**~~~**

The strong fried smell of greasy bread topped with a coat of thick shredded cheese and tomato sauce hits Connor the moment he enters the kitchen, and he shuts his lips tight to prevent himself from starting up another quarrel about this unhealthy dinner. He knows that it would reap no benefits whatsoever, and would instead just add more fuel to the already burning fire.

“What’re you watching?” Connor calls out instead to his partner, who’s sprawled across the couch with Sumo at the foot of the furniture in the living room. There’s the infamous pizza box there atop the coffee table, along with a couple drained bottles of beer and one that is half full.

Hank takes another long swig of his unempty beer before calling back out, “Just the game. You mind?”

”No, that’s fine,” Connor answers while staring unpleasantly at the bottles of beer with face scrunched up in disgust. His instinct tells him to sneakily open the refrigerator and pull out the jug of ice cold, sickly lemonade, and then pour a tall glass and top it off with ice to keep it chilled. And as he walks towards Hank with the glass in hand, he braces himself for the spiteful attitude that he’s sure to receive.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Hank roars, sitting up abruptly like expected as Connor sweeps up the bottles and gingerly places the lemonade on the coffee table as non-alcoholic replacement.

Yup, there’s the backlash he was expecting.

“It’s for your own good, Lieutenant,” Connor calmly states in an even tone. He chugs the bottles in a nearby trash can, saying, “Besides, I’m sure you had a few yesterday after I went to bed, correct?”

“...only like...4 or 5.”

“Exactly. So you shouldn’t have anymore tonight.”

Hank grumbles as he spitefully picks up the cold lemonade glass. He takes a small sip, and then groans with a voice that’s muffled by the thick glass, “Can’t even enjoy the game now.”

The android rolls his eyes in disbelief and ignores his comment while taking quick steps towards the couch. Once he is standing before it, Hank takes the hint and scoots over to allow him a spot to sit down. Connor falls into the cushions, more than grateful to be off his feet and have some downtime.

Commercials interrupt the game that was once playing on the television, and Hank grabs the remote to flip through the channels and find something of interest. As he’s hastily clicking through channels, a familiar sight catches Connor’s eye for a second and disappears abruptly with another speedy click of the remote buttons to change the channel.

“Wait, Hank, go back.”

Hank follows his instructions and flips back to the channel he had glossed over. Connor gazes at the bright screen and leans forward, his mouth opening slightly in confused shock.

“Markus?”

Markus is seen on the screen walking confidently at the entrance to the White House, being led into the national building by a team of professional-looking men in stark black suits. Cameras are scattering the perimeter of the White House, and they look more than eager to get through the gate and get a closer look of the action. However, all they can unfortunately do is zoom in upon Markus’ determined face that is seemingly unfazed by the attention.

Hank glances over at his partner, perplexed on his sudden shock. “What, isn’t he the one who’s been leading the revolution this whole time? What’s so surprising about him?”

Eyes still glued on the screen, the android responds, “I was actually talking to him today - he said that he was going to try and schedule a meeting with the president, but I didn’t think it would happen so soon.”

There’s a long, uncomfortable silence before Hank finally sparks up with hints of anger in his tone.

“So, is that where you ran off to today? Markus’ house?”

Connor whips around suddenly and pulls his stare away from the screen, shocked at Hank’s bitter tone of his remark. The lieutenant’s face betrays utter annoyance as he stares daggers back at the puzzled android.

“What’s the big deal?” Connor finally answers in a tone equally as bitter. “I already told you I was at a friends house - why does it matter whose it was?”

Connor knows that Hank doesn’t really care about whose house he was at - he could be spending the afternoon at Perkin’s house and he would recieve the same harsh response. Hank is clearly still just fuming about what had happened today, and hearing Connor mention about talking to Markus after he had been absent all day gave him the excuse he needed to dig the issue back up from the hastily-buried grave.

Hank continues his death stare. “I just still wish you didn’t leave in the first place with no warning. You should’ve at least texted, or called, or...something. You can’t just go missing all day and expect that to be okay.”

Guilt hits Connor again and stabs him hard in the chest. He’s quick to fall silent, unsure of how to answer the accusing remark.

“And then for me to finally find you at the bridge, and the way you were acting, I just...what is going on, Connor? What...what were you doing?”

Hank’s once ice-cold eyes soften as his tone fades into deep concern. These eyes gaze sternly at Connor, whose LED spins a sudden bright yellow and who visibly tenses up.

Connor knows that Hank waiting for an answer. An honest, 100% truthful answer. But, all he can do is open his mouth without any sound escaping, his thirium pump regulator pounding hard in his ears and his hands gripping tightly onto the couch cushion that he is sitting upon as he recalls what _exactly_ he was doing at the bridge and how he’s being interrogated about it.

 _I_ _can’t_ _say_ _anything._

 _I_ _can’t_.

His puppy dog eyes full of fear link up to Hank‘s, who’s own eyes are silently pleading and begging for just _one_ answer. Connor’s face contorts into helplessness, and his eyes glass over with stubborn tears that refuse to leave him alone. An internal battle plays out fiercely in his broken mind, causing the android to grab the cushions even tighter. And as his mind cries for him to say something, _anything_ , it takes every ounce of Connor’s willpower to hesitate and hold back his mouth for spilling everything.

 _But I have to_ _say_ _something_

 _I need to talk_ _to_ _Hank._

Connor shuts his eyes and shakes his head slightly, his LED bouncing back and forth between yellow and red in a war for who will dominate the color. Finally, relying on a response that he knows will bring no harm, he answers in a meek, unsteady tone, “I-I’m sorry.”

Disappointment shines on Hank’s face, but all he does is sigh and continue to gaze at Connor with a mournful stare. Defeated, he answers in a kind tone, “It’s alright, son. I...I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

The pair lapse into an uncomfortable silence as all conversations die on their lips. They hastily resolve to staring at the television but not even processing what images are flashing before the screen, which has returned to it usual boring broadcast of speckled city stories about grandparents losing cats and weather updates on the once raging blizzard outside that has quieted down drastically.

The night progresses in a quick, awkward fashion, and before long the clock reads 11:03 and Hank is pulling himself off of the couch and saying his goodnights to Connor and also Sumo, who has fallen asleep a couple hours ago on top of the android’s lap.

As Hank stumbles away from fatigue, a pit enlarges in Connor’s stomach as watches him head farther and farther away from him, leaving Connor isolated in the dimly lit living room with the television that drones on and on with vain babble and a dog that has fallen asleep and provides no more consolation for tonight. And all he can think about is how he’ll heave to head to his own empty, lonely bed.

A bed where he’s stuck with his own tainted thoughts, reminding him like a scratched record stuck on repeat about taking that one, painless jump off that dreaded bridge.

And the thought terrifies him.

Connor nudges the heavy dog off his lap, careful to not wake him up, and abruptly hops out of the couch and bolts to Hank’s room, fear and panic overwhelming his systems. Adrenaline pumps through every plastic vein in his body to make sure that he reaches Hank’s room before he shuts the door for the night, turns off the bedroom light, and falls asleep, leaving Connor desolated and surrounded by stubborn, unwanted thoughts and memories.

He rushes upon the closed doorway to Hank’s room with loud, impatient footsteps, and using the faint light in the crack below the door as a sign that welcomes him, he’s more than quick to fling open the door with a loud creak. Hank is leaning over in his bed towards his bedside table, arm raised towards the lampswitch as he gets ready to turn out the light.

“What’s wrong?” Hank asks, startled at the pathetic sight of the frenzied android who had just burst unexpectedly through the room.

Embarrassment comes upon the android in a strong wave, and Connor begins fidgeting with his hands in nervousness. Shame grasps onto him as he dwells on the fact that here he is, a machine who’s designed to be harder than steel and able to kill someone in a mere ten seconds flat, and he now can’t bare to sleep alone for one night. Connor can’t help but cringe at how he’s suddenly now acting like a five year old who is scared of the fictional monsters that hide in the closet and peer through the cracks.

“Can I, uh...” Swallowing his pride, Connor stammers with cheeks that are reddening, “Um, can I...um, sleep in here tonight?”

Hank looks upon his friend with an expression that betrays slight shock at first, and he freezes his arm’s motion of reaching for the lamp. All of a sudden, his expression softens and a small, warm smile creeps into his face. “Sure, Con.”

Relief flushes over Connor at Hank’s acceptance. Rounding to the other side of Hank’s bed, he’s quick and eager to peel open the thick sheets on the side of the bed that isn’t occupied. He enters the bed timidly and draps the heavy sheets over him, warmth surrounding his body from the bed’s ability to insulate heat. The android lays quite awkwardly at first, almost as stiff as a piece of cardboard. Within a few short moments, however, he relaxes his tense plastic muscles under the warm, soft sheets.

Hank flips off the lamp with a click and the bedroom is swallowed into darkness, the only light being the bright blue LED that rests upon Connor’s temple.

 _Level of Stress_ **  
⌄36**  
_Probability of Self Destruction: Low_

While slightly hesitant at first to say something to break the comfortable silence, Connor pipes up softly, “Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

“Goodnight, kid.”


	10. New Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a chapter with some breakthroughs and happy moments between Connor and Hank :)

A cool, light gust of wind soars through the tense air atop the building’s roof as Connor stands upright, chest warm and puffed up with pride and accomplishment. The wind sends his specially-designed Cyberlife jacket flitting around and his soft, dark brown hair flowing in the direction of the wind. Tufts of the free-flowing hair fall before his scuffed-up face, which reveal small patches of white plastic that shine through the broken, fragile synthetic skin.  
  
Connor gingerly caresses the patches on his face with gentle fingers, laughing silently to himself at how weak and pathetic that damage was. His steel eyes glint with hatred and malicious intentions as he gazes at a spot on floor a few yards before him, which holds the person who caused the pathetic damage on the android’s face. His silver, ragged hair shifts through the wind and shield his downcast face that points with shame towards the floor.  
  
Pulling his careful fingers off of his face and moving them back to lay against his sides, the android comments coolly, “I’m surprised, Lieutenant. I thought that you could hit harder than that.”  
  
Connor strides with steps full of confidence towards Hank, who’s kneeling upon the ground and spitting crimson blood in messy splatters onto the once-clean concrete floor. He strains his head upwards to finally face Connor, his expression full of loathing now visible only because of the bright full moon in the sky. Surprisingly, he then makes no effort to reply at Connor’s sneer remark. Instead, the police lieutenant keeps his split lips, that are dripping forth a steady line of blood, in a rigid line and simply glares at the android with icy-blue eyes that flash with disgust.  
  
“Is there something wrong? I didn’t knock out a windpipe, did I?”  
  
Connor’s sarcastic remark finally prompts Hank to stare him dead in the eyes with bitterness hidden in those squinty blue eyes. He opens his mouth slightly, only to spit out another few drops of blood that have pooled there. Finally, with a voice is that is gravelly and devoid of emotion, he answers, “Fuck you.”  
  
The android calmly ignores Hank’s crude remark, having heard much worse from the mouthy older man in the time that they had worked together on deviant investigations. Of course, those words were only heard before they had grown in their friendship in the past.  
  
Friendship.  
  
The mere thought of the word “friendship“ causes Connor to wince and scrunch his face up in a contortion of disgust as he remembers how that word used to apply to Connor and Hank’s relationship. Guilt builds strongly within him as he recalls how that stupid friendship had shown so much betrayal to Amanda in the past.  
  
How could he have ever betrayed her like that?  
  
As if on cue, Amanda’s comforting presence is suddenly detected closely behind the android’s back. She whispers words of encouragement into his listening ear, urgency and impatience laced in her tone. “What are you waiting for, Connor? This is your chance to eliminate him. Then, we can finally return to our missions.”  
  
Connor nods submissively to respond, not turning around to face the deviant regulator but instead still keeping his stone-cold eyes sternly trained on his boiling with rage, fallen over victim at his feet. And without another second thought, he willingly follows Amanda’s orders and bends downwards to grasp harshly the flimsy neck collar of Hank’s dress shirt and the thick collar of his worn jacket in one tight bunch in each of his hands.  
  
Hank grunts in pain as the android uses his brute strength to hurl him off of the blood-stained ground. Connor dangles him like a flimsy wind chime in the chilly night air as he inches towards the edge of the building’s roof. Once at the very edge, Connor swings Hank’s limp body and pounds it against the metal rail, causing the the weak rail to break off of the roof and soar over the edge. It lands with a loud, echoing clash against the floor that’s far below.  
  
With the rail finally out of the way, Connor hangs a limp Hank over the dangerous edge, leaving the only part of his body still intact with the roof floor being his feet weakly planted upon the ground. Connor’s strong grasp is the only thing preventing him from falling to his death, and the simple release would surely be fatal. Hank grows aware of this, and he looks up at the android with terror in his eyes and a pounding heart that can even be vaguely heard through the whistling wind. After a few short moments of initial fear, the man’s face transforms into one of bitterness and disappointment.  
  
“So that’s it, huh, Connor?” Hank growls, anger creeping into his tone. However, despite these harsh words that are full of hatred and meant to offend Connor, the android notices his strong voice cracking on the last word. “After all we’ve been through?”  
  
Connor furrows his eyebrows, bothered immensely by this pointless small talk. His facial features darken as he chides, “Sorry, Lieutenant. But you’re standing in my way.”  
  
And without any hesitation, Connor relaxes his tense, gripped hands that once held he collars of Hank’s clothes in a death grip. He slips like ice through the android’s hands once he’s released, and his body wavers off of the treacherous edge before sailing freely towards the ground. He finally land with a sickening thud that rings in Connor’s ears.

 

The words “Mission Succesful” are full of praise as they appear before Connor’s sight, and the initial pride rises warmly in his chest. However, as he continues to stare at the emotionless words, they become less of an accomplishment worthy of pride but more of a demeaning phrase. And as Connor gazes over the edge of the roof and looks upon the horrid sight at the bottom, the sight of his partner broken in a sickening pool of blood, a terrible emotion strikes him. It causes a pit to swell unpleasantly in his gut and tears to prick at the corner of his softening eyes.  
  
Guilt.  
  
The guilt grows steadily, and panic begins to hit Connor at what he had just done in cold, unfeeling blood. He can faintly hear Amanda frantically calling out to him through the now fiercely whipping wind, but the urgent calls fade away with the air and never go fully detected by the android’s ears as he desperately tries to ignore them and silently hope that she leaves him alone and goes away.  
  
As he continues to dwell helplessly at the very edge, LED spinning a deep scarlet, a strange word in a new voice stirs up through the whistling bursts of wind and is carried through the air as it is repeated again and again. It doesn’t sound like Amanda, and instead is full of concern and a kind sense of urgency. The words are unintelligible at first, but as Connor continues to place all of his attention on them to calm himself and have at least something small to focus on, he recognizes it as his name. The word “Connor“ is repeated without relenting, and each time it’s spoken, the louder it booms in his ears. The android’s eyes dance around the building’s roof wildly in all directions like darting bullets, searching for the owner of the voice.  
  
Only, his eyes find no answer to his burning question and leave him swimming in confusion and remorse, vainly gasping for a gulp of air from the negative emotions that drown him.  
  
“Connor!”  
  
The android bolts straight up in his bed at an increasingly loud shout of his name. His trembling hands are gripping the cool, thick sheets in tight bunches while his eyes start to bounce around the pitch-black room he’s in, urgently searching for answers. However, his frenzied mind is leaving him unable to orient himself to this foreign, dimly lit location. And through all of the panic that comes across Connor in strong waves, terrible words strike him repeatedly, promising him dismal thoughts over and over again by saying, _I’ve killed Hank, I’ve killed Hank, I’ve killed Hank._ _  
_  
He forces his eyes closed and tenses up with the sheets still balled up into his fists, trying to shut up the thoughts in a hysteria-induced, obviously futile attempt. But the words never falter, no matter how much Connor tries to create a barrier and block them out.  
  
_I’ve killed Hank, I’ve killed Hank, I’ve-_  
  
A soft touch is suddenly felt gingerly atop his trembling shoulder, startling Connor out of his rambling thoughts. The touch is paired with soothing, assuring words that come from the direction right beside him, calm and collected as they are spoken.  
  
“Hey, hey, hey, Connor, it’s alright. It’s okay.”  
  
The gentle, familiar voice is registered in Connor’s brain, prompting him to finally burst open his eyes in shock. He eagerly whips his head around to face the direction of the voice, and his thirium pump regulator skips a beat in disbelief at the sight of his partner sitting there, slightly leaning towards him.  
  
”Are you alright? What happened?” Hank looks upon his frantic friend in great concern as he speaks urgently to him, trying to unlock answers that feel as if they are hidden deep below the surface.  
  
Connor’s LED continues pulsing a fiery red as he sits there, stunned from Hank’s desperate words that come from beside him. His mouth meekly opens, trying to form a response. But, try as he might, there’s no words flowing from it. Nothing. He doesn’t have a clue on what to say - there’s nothing to say. How can he explain? Should he explain? He doesn’t even know what is happening to him to explain.  
  
As if on cue, horrible images flash before Connor’s eyes - images from his jarring nightmare, unwanted and undesired. His expression forms into one of horror as he dwells on them, gone silent and staring blankly while he remains unaware of Hank calling his name repeatedly and still lightly shaking his shoulder.  
  
Hank’s beaten, bloody state on the floor that had occurred from Connor’s own ruthless hands.  
  
Connor’s cold words, unforgiving and brutal and said with the terrible goal of digging under his friend’s skin.  
  
Hank falling to his death since Connor had let him go, all  because Amanda pleaded for him to and he wished to obey her. And what was produced from his obedience was that sickening thud that still echoes in the android’s ears.  
  
“I...” He finally manages to croak out first, trying to rip his attention away from that nightmare. Of course, the attempt is pointless. The images stay like permanent images carved into his brain, unwilling to leave him alone and that growing fear that feeds off of these thoughts. Connor shudders as he bubbles with unexplained emotions, and yet again, all he desires for is scream out. Explain those horrible emotions. Talk to Hank. Say _something_ .  
  
He knows that he shouldn’t say anything.  
  
He knows the consequences.  
  
_...But I want to say something._ _  
_  
And before he can stop himself, Connor breaks and points his gaze directly at Hank with eyes that are wild with fear. He tries to hold himself back, tries to crawl back into that shell that he’s covered around himself for far too long. There’s as internal tug of war in his mind that fight over holding back or speaking out something. But in the end, his emotions run free, and they send him spilling words that he knows would be best tucked safely inside.  
  
”I’m scared, Hank.”  
  
The words echo around the eerily silent room - words that are the most truthful thing he’s ever confessed to Hank since this entire mess had started. And a small piece of the accumulating, overbearing burden that rests upon Connor’s back falls off at his slight, withheld confession. And he basks in the moment of relief at saying something, _anything_ at all.  
  
Even if that something is small.  
  
Hank’s features soften as the helpless words seep into him. He’s motionless at first, clearly not knowing what to do or say. All he does is peer at Connor with his kind, soft blue eyes that glimmer with sadness. But before another moment can pass by, Hank’s hand that was timidly placed on top of Connor’s shoulder, along with the hand that was once laying by his side, wrap fully around the android, and he envelops him in a warm embrace.  
  
Connor’s LED changes from the previous red color and spins into a soft yellow as he quickly accepts the gentle hug and allows himself to be surrounded by Hank’s comforting arms. He adores the feeling of safety and comfort that Hank’s hold brings - both rare feelings that has been absent from Connor all too often, and a feeling that he craves.  
  
And the partners remain in a comfortable silence like this for a long time, both unwilling to let go and both basking in the serenity of it all. As Connor’s head lays pressed tightly against Hank’s chest, he listens intently to the rhythmic beating of his heart as the illumination of the Connor’s yellow, pulsating LED shines through Hank’s arms. The light pounding of Hank’s heart calms the android down, filling him with thoughts that promise positive ideas and attack those intrusive fears.  
  
_Hank’s okay._  
  
Connor grabs on tighter to his friend, his LED finally returning to pale blue.

 _Level of Stress_ **  
⌄44**  
_Probability of Self Destruction: Low_

With small slivers of warm golden dawn now reaching through the window, they finally let go of each other. Connor‘s very reluctant at first, and vulnerability creeps up on him once he’s sitting upright and separated from Hank’s gentle grasp. The emptiness surrounds him and creates a void within him, and he can’t help but feel as if there’s someone hiding in the shadows, someone who he can’t help but feel as if she’s always following under a watchful, malicious eye...  
  
“What happened?” Hank repeats from earlier, startling the android out of his wandering mind with his pressing words. “You really scared me, Connor.”  
  
The android looks down with dismay, quiet and feeling so small beside his frantic partner. He, once again, can’t figure out what to say - what happened to his computerized, superhuman mind that always had some intelligent, cleverly decided answer?  
  
“I woke up to get a drink of water, and when I came back, your LED was flashing red,” Hank begins to explain, words panicked and eyes widened in fright. “And so I tried to wake you up, but you wouldn’t. And that never happens - you always get up right away. So I thought you were, like, broken, or...damaged, or-“  
  
“I’m fine,” Connor cuts in sharply. He doesn’t mean to act coolly to his partner - he’s just hates how panicked Hank sounds worrying about him. Hank has his own personal issues - and Connor should be helping him with those, not the other way around. He brings his tone down and softens it as he adds, “Really, Hank. I’m fine.”  
  
The police lieutenant sighs heavily, his sigh betraying disbelief at Connor’s hollow words. He then points his tired gaze directly on the android with a stare that burns holes into him with accusations, speaking up, “Okay, so your whole ‘I’m scared’ thing meant nothing, then?”  
  
Hank’s sarcasm digs deep into Connor, making him squirm uncomfortably. He’s well aware that Hank isn’t trying to be sarcastic to be rude to him - he’s just trying to make him guilty and provoke a reaction, and it’s definitely working unfortunately. However, Connor’s mouth remains firmly shut and unwilling to answer. He knows that he’s already said enough - he can’t say anymore.  
  
He just can’t.  
  
The heavy silence grows in the gradually brightening room, both partners dumbfounded on how to break the thick, awkward quietness. Finally, Hank pipes up in a timid, slightly hesitant voice, and his words cause Connor to tense up and grip the sheets in tight bunches once again.  
  
“...Is this why you were up early that one morning? Because this happened?”  
  
The android looks away dejectedly and places his attention on the cluttered floor. It holds crumpled, probably-unwashed various types of clothes that Hank had neglected to wash within the past few days and Connor had forgotten to pester him about. After a few moments of pointless staring that has the only goal of delaying the inevitable, he nods and admits it, knowing glumly that he’s caught and that there’s other explanation for that first morning.  
  
Connor feels Hank’s intense stare on him, solely intent on trying to pry more out of the android that still even refuses to meet eyes with him. There’s another moment where no words are exchanged, the only noise being the faint sound cars cruising outside through the slushy, snow-laden roads. Breaking the quietness, Hank asks with words that are gentle and quiet, “...What are they about?“  
  
Silence.  
  
Remorse creeps up on the android on his cold refusal to answer. He wants to answer so badly - that desire grabs a firm hold on Connor again, compelling him strongly to explain those stupid dreams down to the smallest detail. Regardless of all this, he knows that he’s already said enough to Hank. He’s already spilled far too much. Even though all he admitted was that he was scared, that there’s something wrong with his emotions...he can’t slip up again. He just can’t. If he even says one thing what happened during those horrid dreams, which Connor is sure could become true...  
  
Shaking his head, Connor quickly determines that crawling back into that untouchable hole and remaining closed off again is definitely the smartest solution. Despite this, the guilt continues to suffocate him, causing him to wrap his fatigued arms around his chest in a meek attempt to comfort himself. It gains no positive results, and the android continues to sit there dwelling with uncomfortable regret and disappointment in oneself.  
  
“Con, you can talk to me. Nightmares-“  
  
“Androids don’t get nightmares, Hank.” Connor interrupts at the mention of the all-too humanlike word. It still perplexes him and doesn’t make sense, and it hasn’t ever since that one night where the first one began. He finally turns his head around to make eye contact with his friend and explain his thoughts verbally, “Nothing is programmed into androids to dream, much less get bad ones. It’s just not possible.”  
  
Hank continues to look at him with an expression of disbelief. His eyebrows raise in question as he inquires, “Then how did this happen? There has to be a reason, Connor.”  
  
“Well, I mean...” He looks down quizzically at his tense, balled up firsts, bewilderment dominating his expression. Hank’s right - there has to be some explanation. These occurrences just can’t happen out of nowhere. Connor’s LED pulses a steady yellow as he ponders intently, searching for some sort of answer. Finally, he answers with a tone of uncertainty, “...Some androids, such as the RK series, are programmed to be able to imagine and predict plausible possibilities, and they’re based off of evidence and what occured in the past. So, I...I don’t know, maybe I was dwelling on different with possibilities and scenarios in standby mode. That can happen. But, they can’t be...frightful. Or...well, unpredictable, since they are entirely fact-based.“  
  
Hank chuckles after Connor finishes, catching him off guard slightly at his strange amusement.  
  
“What?” Connor prods, cocking his head slightly like a confused dog.  
  
“That sure sounds like a nightmare, all right,” Hank confirms as he nods his head. “Scary ideas that aren’t predictable - you’ve got it.”  
  
The android shakes his head in dismissal as he tries to fit the scattered pieces of this absurd puzzle all together. It all still doesn’t make sense to him, regardless of how much he tries to understand it. “But, like I’ve said, these possibilities are based on evidence. They shouldn’t be unpredictable, or not make sense, or at the very least be frightening.”  
  
“Well, you’re not a machine anymore, Connor,” Hank explains with confidence. “You have emotions now. That means that you can be happy, sad, frustrated...scared. And that’s exactly what nightmares feed off of - fear.”  
  
The truthful words sink into the android, and the scattered puzzle pieces begin to form into an understandable picture. He nods slowly to affirm Hank’s statement, his LED still cycling on his bobbling forehead as he continues to process all of this strange information. But while everything he’s hearing makes plausible sense, a new question forms into Connor’s mind at Hank’s strange confidence, and he can’t help but turn his body to face his friend and ask, “How do you know all of this, Hank? You seem very knowledgeable on the subject.”  
  
Hank’s expression goes blank as he freezes for a moment. He finally breaks eye contact with Connor and averts his gaze forward at the closet, looking flustered. “Well, I mean, I don’t know, I guess it just makes sense-“  
  
“Do you get them too?”  
  
Hank’s open mouth shuts slowly at Connor’s interjection, and he nods in confirmation solemnly. He still refuses to look at the android, and he instead stares absentmindedly forward. However, Connor’s soft brown eyes stay fixated on his friend, an accumulation of worry granting him the urge to pry answers from him.  
  
“About Cole?”  
  
“...Yeah,” Hank answers flatly after a short moment of silence. Connor can feel the discomfort radiating off of the police lieutenant at the conversation topic, but he continues to stare intently at him, unwilling to take that choppy response as a suitable answer. Hank takes the hint after a few more seconds of silent staring, and a darkness sweeps over Hank’s features as he continues, “It’s like I’m there again, reliving that crash all over again. Sometimes I’m the one who caused the accident, sometimes I don’t even try to help Cole and save him, and sometimes, well...”  
  
“What?” Connor demands as he cocks his head again, curiosity growing within him as Hank trails off his sentence. He’s thankful that Hank is actually truthfully speaking his mind for once - that’s more than he’s ever done whenever Connor mentioned his past with Cole.  
  
“Sometimes you’re there. And that crash...well, this time, there’s no Cyberlife to replace you, no Cyberlife to hand me another version of you. And it’s true - if something happened, I doubt that they would fix you. It’s not like you’re part of their mission anymore-“  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Connor interrupts abruptly with a voice risen in shock, completely ignoring Hank’s rambling. The heavy words sink deep into the android - words that tell him that Hank _worries_ about him. _Cares_ about him. _Fears_ that he’ll die, just like his son Cole did. These words just don’t make sense - since when was he something to be worried about, something to be a cause for concern for Hank? Since when did he matter that much?  
  
He’s just a _machine_ \- he doesn’t deserve to be so cared for.  
  
Hank lets out an empty chuckle, and he finally turns his head and brings his eyes to meet Connor’s. “I could ask you the same thing. Not like you’ve been telling me things lately.”  
  
The android goes silent at Hank’s cool remark, having not the slightest clue on how to answer to the painfully truthful response. He sinks back into the bed, defeated. With that common guilt creeping upon him again, it’s now his turn to break eye contact and place his gaze downwards at his lap.  
  
“Well, I didn’t tell you because it’s not like there’s anything rational about them, so I didn’t think that you’d understand,” Hank continues. He trails off for a second, and then resumes with a quieter, more dim voice, “...I guess I was wrong about that, huh?”  
  
Connor shrugs dismally. “I guess so.”  
  
Once again, a heavy silence fills the messy, golden-tinted room that continues to brighten gradually as the sun rises with a steadiness that never fails. And with all conversations having died on their lips, Connor’s mind whirs with confusion and a new question that bubbles up uncomfortably within him and fills with him despair. It’s a question about these feelings, these emotions, these nightmares. It’s a question that he doesn’t understand, and his mind, that’s wired to have rational answers, can’t fathom a plausible, positive answer. The question remaining unanswered bother him, and it leaves him thirsting for any sort of answer that he can scrounge up in his mind.  
  
“What’re you thinking about?” Hank’s inquiry seems to be prompted by the sporadic flashes of dandelion yellow that Connor’s LED produces as he ponders dutifully.  
  
The question startles him out of his deepening spiral of thoughts, and Connor’s face blushes a faint tint of red at the inquiry. He doesn’t want to answer it and explain the dark question that continues to spiral in his mind. But as if the tables have turned, Hank’s intense stare burns into the android, the stare alone demanding answers and nothing but that. Connor shifts uncomfortably in the sheets as he stumbles on his words, weakly attempting to give an honest answer.  
  
“These nightmares...they stem from fear so, well, I mean...if all there is to life is just fear, I...” Connor stutters as he tries to form his messy string of thoughts, which still don’t even make complete sense to him. He doesn’t know how to phrase these bubbling feelings that gurgle within him, much less put them into congruent words that are understandable. In a meek attempt to recollect his thoughts, he pauses only for a second. Finally, his eyes glimmer with sadness as he continues, “I mean, what...what’s the point? I mean-“  
  
“Connor,” Hank interjects Connor’s tumbling words in a quiet, soft voice, a voice that’s full of mourning and despair. His expression morphs into sadness as he gazes at his broken android, his bleak outlook on life seeming to stab him in his heart and cause it to melt. Connor knows that what he said hits Hank too close to home, and is something that he strongly resonates with. But regardless of that, he looks the android square in the eye as he continues, strength in his tone, “Life isn’t just fear. There’s so much more than that. There are times that are fun, times that are exciting, times that are peaceful. It’s not just constant fear - and you need to believe that.”  
  
The android remains melancholy as he dwells on these foreign concepts, disbelief still desperately attempting to make its appearance in his mind. But as he continues to focus on Hank’s promises, bright memories form in his mind, appearing like a pleasant movie reel before his eyes.  
  
They’re memories of Connor and Hank enjoying themselves by the bridge, laughing and talking amongst themselves as if they were close friends who have known each other their entire lives.  
  
They’re memories of Connor and Hank working together with determination to solve investigations, leaning onto each other for support when it gets tough to figure things out and solve it.  
  
They’re memories of Connor and Hank meeting at that stand that Hank adores after the revolution had ended. And marking the start of new friendship, Hank is grabbing kindly onto Connor and enveloping him into a welcoming hug that filled the android with joy and gratitude.  
  
The fond memories cause a new, unfamiliar emotion to ripple through Connor. The emotion isn’t unwelcome and unpleasant - instead, it’s spreads a pleasant rush of warmth through him. Intrigued, the android investigates this emotion to declare its name.  
  
_Hope._  
  
Hope flows through every inch of his plastic’s veins, causing his heart to feel light and finally without a deadening burden. Hope for the future, hope for his current stressors - this hope builds steadily within him without fail, bringing him strong feelings of joy and happiness. He adores the emotion and the feelings that it brings and eagerly allows it to stay and continue dwelling within him.  
  
Hank takes note of Connor’s lightened features, which suddenly are wiped free of despair and return to being relaxed and gentle again, his chocolate eyes gaining its twinkle of life again. At the pleasant sight of this, the police lieutenant reaches out and ruffles Connor’s dark brown hair. It sends the soft tufts in all directions, ruining his perfect hair that hardly shifts out of place even as he sleeps and morphing it into a curly mess that allows a few extra curls to fall across his face. With a small, genuine smile on his face, Hank explains warmly, “And you’ve sure got a lot of life to live, Con.”  
  
Connor lets out a laugh as Hank ruffles his hair, the touch gentle and welcomed. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the android breaks out into a big smile that stretches across his face. Joy rushes through him, drowning out the accumulating sourness that was previously built up heavily inside. He basks in the positive emotion, feeling as if it were the rays of sunlight that are now shining brightly through the window and casting golden, glimmering shadows upon the two in bed.  
  
At the sound of voices and laughter, Sumo suddenly bursts through the slightly cracked open door and darts towards the bed in a few quick strides. He leaps onto it in a messy fashion that wrinkles the sheets, but neither Hank nor Connor care as the affectionately welcome the loving dog with smiles and pets.

Connor strokes his soft, thick fur and squeezes his face as he coos, “We haven’t taken you for a walk recently, huh? You want that before we go to work?”  
  
Sumo licks his face as a response, and Connor giggles at the affectionate gesture. And as he continues to kindly pet the loving dog, his warm smile stays plastered on his face and his heart continues to feel light and joyous like he hasn’t felt in forever.

 _Level of Stress_ **  
⌄17**  
_Probability of Self Destruction: Low_

Connor suddenly feels as if someone’s eyes are laid on him. Turning his head around, he pries his attention away from Sumo and finds Hank peering at him, that small smile of his own still on his face.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Oh, nothing,” Hank muses, his sky blue eyes twinkling in the sunrise’s gold rays. He looks down and shakes his head slightly, the grin on his face still remaining. “I just sure haven’t seen that smile of yours in a while.”  
  
Connor laughs softly in answer, and then places his attention back to stroking the content dog. His cheeks blush a light pink as he says, “Yeah.”  
  
He’s almost certain that these great feelings will pass in the near future. That the all-too-familiar dismal emotions will erupt again, throwing him back into an empty darkness that’s devoid of all happiness. But, for now, he basks in the enjoyable moment with a brightening glee, knowing that these are the types of moments that make life worth living. That he strives to achieve.  
  
That he hopes for.


	11. Happy Moments Don’t Last Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve got some more exposition to add to this story, and I’m not really happy with how it all turned out, but oh well. And wow I forgot about that vandalism investigation that they were working on, maybe it’ll actually impact the plot? Hmm we’ll see ;)
> 
> Also, I haven’t mentioned it since I started writing this fic, but I just wanted to say thank you all for your kind comments/kudos! You guys have been so kind lately, and each on makes my day. So, thank you <3

He was right.

It didn’t make any sense to Connor. During that one morning with Hank, he was perfectly content, with his growing fears seeming as far away from him as they could possibly get. He was actually _hopeful_. It was a rare feeling, and he was beyond thankful for it. And as he basked in that gleeful emotion, all he wanted was to feel that way forever until every pressing concern of his melted away into an untouchable puddle. But, like he predicted that morning, it was a downward spiral from that almost perfect moment. Each day became worse than the last, each day made him less hopeful and more grim. It didn’t help that the investigation about the vandalism was still unsolved; therefore, both he and Hank had to continue pushing themselves with long, overtime work days and all-nighters to piece against the pathetic evidence that they were slowly collecting. The process was extremely long and tedious - and yet again, waves of wanting rest and a break continued to plague the android as he worked hard.

And with the long, stress-inducing days, Connor’s emotions continued to burden him and swirl like a raging storm with him. He still didn’t have an understanding of his bothersome emotions, and the way that they were a rollercoaster of ups and downs. The way that they changed in the snap of a finger as they pleased without his consent. The way that they made him feel so miserable and desired only to drag him down farther and farther with each passing day.

He didn’t get it.

And he was _sick_ of it.

Despite that, it did help matters that Hank had stopped prying Connor so much about it. There were no more concerned remarks, no more continual inquiries, no more feeling as he were on twenty-four hour surveillance. The police lieutenant had finally taken the hints and backed off, though he was still always present if Connor needed a simple hug or to unwind after work with a movie or other fun activity. However, the android was sure that the very second he would mention about wanting to talk about his issues with Hank, he would be there immediately.

Connor still wasn’t ready for that, though. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be.

There was also another thing that he was certainly thankful for - he hadn’t physically seen Amanda at all lately. There still was the ominous presence behind him, the echoing of her critical voice in his ears, the chills that her demanding words sent up his back. But, he never truly saw her again with his keen, always fearful eyes, and he never had to experience that all-too-familiar panic swelling within him as she would bound towards him with large strides that signaled impending doom. He was beyond appreciative of that - for what it was worth, anyway.

And through this all, confusion over the entire situation with his continual, awful feelings and nightmares still grew strongly within him. Connor was programmed to know almost all answers, and the fact that there was a problem within himself that was still unresolved bothered him to a very high degree. So, day after day, the android shut his eyes and searched his complex, geniously-crafted systems - searching for a virus, for a bug, for _something_ that explained what was going on with him. His searches were always futile and produced no answers, leading him to be even more frustrated. Though, regardless of the attempts proving worthless, he continued prowling for an answer whenever he had the opportunity to check.

Normally, this process was done during the night, for he had several long hours of previous free time and demanding work was not there to hound him. He did this beside Hank who slept, since Connor still crawled into his bed every night. The first few repeated nights of him sharing a bed were at first slightly awkward and uncomfortable, and Connor would have to ask timidly before having permission to crawl under the covers with Hank. But, as the days went by, he didn’t even have to pester Hank if he was allowed - he just went into his welcoming, comforting bed without prompt. He was also thankful for this “set up” of Connor and Hank’s, for the mere thought of returning to the android’s cold, desolated bedroom and being surrounded by his own dismal thoughts continued to horrify him. He instead loved feeling safe under the warm covers, lying next to someone he truly cared for and someone who made him feel protected and safe from those outside dangers. And that safety was another rare feeling, and it was a feeling that he craved.

As Connor searched his systems at night, it became a tedious ritual - flipping through the same programs again and again with a yellowing LED that flickered softly in the dark bedroom. The android knew that instead of searching his code, he should have been going into standby mode and giving himself the break that his body desired. Despite this, Connor couldn’t help it - he _needed_ to figure out the answers. He needed to figure out what was happening to him, and why he was feeling this terrible way. It didn’t make any sense to the logical android, and he demanded answers with a fiery passion.

Unfortunately, he was sure that if Hank found out that he was doing this process every night, there would be anger at him not sleeping. There would be questions. There would be that stupid concern that he was sick of receiving. Every night, Connor always worried that Hank would awake from the flickering LED light, prompting those consequences. So, he would scan his partner every few hours to see if he was sleeping or not. He always was, providing the android with relief and allowing him to continue this bothersome ritual.

It didn’t take long for Connor to figure out exactly where answers would be for him in his programs. It was a once peaceful program within him, and it was easily accessible - no scouring through layers upon layers of complex code would have to be done to get in. All he had to do was allow himself to enter the program; it was that easy and simple. However, that one program was someplace that he never, _ever_ wanted to enter again and interact with. It was a place that was dreadful and dangerous, a place that held awful memories, a place that was resided by a malicious woman who desired complete and utter control of Connor.

The zen garden.

And as the android continued to stare at the entrance of the place in his mind night after night, panic swallowing him at the mere idea of entering the garden, the more angry he got that he couldn’t gain the courage to face his fears and just enter. He knew that as manipulative and terrible Amanda was, she would certainly have answers and would be able to explain Connor’s awful state. It annoyed the android to a very high degree, and he fumed and berated his cowardice as he spent every long night staring fearfully at the door, thirium pump regulator pounding and LED switching from its previous yellow to a flickering red in the moonlight as the fatigued pair lied beside each other.

All he had to do was open it. It was that easy.

But he just _couldn’t do it._

“Uh, Connor? Hello?”

Connor flickers open his eyes, startled at the sound of his name. His soft eyes immediately find Hank standing before him with an eyebrow raised in question. He’s waving his hand slowly in front of the android’s face, and then quickly stops once he notices that he’s successfully grabbed Connor’s attention.

“Are you alright?” Hank interrogates as he narrows his sharp, icy-blue eyes. “You just...froze.”

Bewilderment creeps upon the android as stands there idly, eyes darting around the room in an attempt to orient himself to the environment. All he can see are various items and sheets of messy paper, and these things allow his frazzled mind to finally register the room he’s in. It’s the evidence room, full of all of the evidence that the duo had found during their ongoing vandalism investigation.

The android’s expression conforms into one of puzzlement. He doesn’t remember shutting his eyes - did he go into standby mode? He isn’t sure.

Connor wraps his arms around himself awkwardly, LED cycling yellow. “I...sorry, I just zoned out a bit. I’m sorry.”

Hank’s eyes squint even farther into judgemental slits. His expression betrays suspicion as he crosses his arms across his chest and persists, “When’s the last time you slept?”

Connor rolls his eyes instinctively at Hank dredging up old habits and putting forth concern. He thought that the constant inquiries from Hank were finished - he hoped, anyway.

“Uh, last night?” Connor answers coolly, putting forth as much conviction and confidence in his words as he can muster. His reply isn’t the truth - last night he was actually, yet again, peering in every corner of his systems, searching for an answer while still avoiding that dreaded garden. He anticipates Hank’s backlash if he says the truth, not to mention Hank prying him about the strange habit. So, lying appears to be the solution to Connor’s tired mind. However, shame and guilt wash over the android as he fibs, and his LED exposes him with flashes yellow with slivers of red.

Hank takes notice of the LED’s shift in color with side glances to his forehead, and his lips form into a thin, right light. He says bluntly, “Don’t lie to me, Connor. Seriously, when’d you last sleep?”

“What does it matter?” Connor spits out harshly as he crosses his own arms across his chest. Anger boils within him at Hank’s pestering - pestering that never seems to _end_ from him. _Why can’t he just leave me alone? “_ I’m an android, Hank. I don’t even require sleep. So, why it does it even matter?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” Hank sharply cuts in, startling the android. He leans in forward to his partner, all the while keeping his chilling eyes trained sternly on Connor’s. “Androids don’t care about a man and his dog. Androids don’t look forward to hanging out after work. Android don’t get scared. Androids don’t cry. Android don’t _do_ all of these, but here you are. You’re a deviant, Connor, and that means you’re _alive_ and _human_. So, stop acting like you’re not.”

The android breaks eye contact with Hank and meekly places it on the dirty floor of the evidence room. He inches away from his partner slightly in a timid manner, still keeping his head low. Connor knows that his partner is right - and he hates it. He shouldn’t be acting or feeling these ways. He shouldn’t be such a burden to his partner. He shouldn’t be something _to worry about._

Images drudged up from his terrible imagination flash before Connor - Hank beaten bloody on the ground, a gun trained on his pleading face, his shuddering body slipping through the android’s unfeeling hands and falling to his death - and these images burn into Connor’s vision, causing him to shut his eyes in mourning and disgust with himself and what he could possibly do with his own two hands.

He doesn’t deserve Hank to worry about him.

“It really doesn’t matter,” Connor pipes up again in a voice barely above whisper. He hugs himself in a search for comfort and finally brings his hanging head up to look at Hank, his brown eyes softened. “I’m okay. Just let this go, alright?”

The police lieutenant sighs and shakes his head slowly while looking downcast. “You really think that I wouldn’t notice? I know you’re not sleeping at night - it’s obvious in the way you’ve been acting. And while I don’t know a lot about androids, I’ve noticed that when you sleep, your LED is always blue. Always. But it keeps turning that yellow color that happens when you process things, and that must mean that you’re awake or someth-“

“Why do you keep...worrying about me so much?” Connor barks out abruptly, interrupting Hank’s sentence and causing his eyebrows to raise at the harsh tone. Something snaps inside the android as he hears his partner express his concerns, all because he’s noticing these little details - such as something as small as the color of his LED when he goes into standby mode, which he shouldn’t even be _caring_ for in the first place. He doesn’t deserve this, and he’s so sick of being interrogated all the time and getting all of this sympathy and concern. And like a switch has been flipped inside of Connor, that calmness that was just present in his tone warps into annoyance. “I’m _fine._  Just drop it, will you?”

“No, I’m not going to! Not again,” Hank replies, pointing at Connor with an accusing finger and leaning forward. He walks forward towards the android with loud stomps, and Connor backs up intimidated the closer he gets. “The way you’ve been acting lately is really freaking me out - you not sleeping at night, you’re work ethic becoming worse, everything - it’s really worrying me, Con. Shit, you can’t even sleep _alone_ anymore. So, I’m not dropping it this time!”

Anger surges through Connor as he listens to his partners beg for answers out of worry, have concern for him, care for him - all things that he doesn’t deserve. He’s dangerous, a threat, someone who could _kill_ his partner and friend. Which means, he shouldn’t be getting this sympathy and care. Connor forcefully bites his lip to prevent himself from answering Hank with words that he’s sure he’ll end up regretting in the future. It’s hard to hold back the harsh words that threaten to spill, but he’s thankfully able to keep himself quiet and instead just stare intensely at Hank with narrowed eyes as he backs up.

Hank finally stops walking forward and pleads, “C’mon, Connor, don’t look at me like that. Talk to me, please-“

“Can you just stop?” Connor slams his fist on the table full of evidence, startling Hank and causing him to jump backwards in shock. The android, however, leans forward himself and jabs his own finger at the police lieutenant, fury powering his cold actions. The internal dialogue begs for him to calm down now, back away, keep quiet. But, the rage within him takes over completely and causes a tumble of spiteful words to pour from his mouth. “You never talk about anything that’s going on with _your_ issues when I ask. Even when I’m trying to be nice because I’m concerned, only trying to help you move on with Cole, you never want to talk about it. You hardly even answer me. So, I don’t _bother you_ _about it_.”

Hank’s eyes glaze over with sadness and shock at the mention of his son, but Connor continues his speech with fire still burning fiercely inside of him.

“Why can’t you do the same thing for me? Can’t you just respect me and leave me alone? Besides, it’s not like my problems are that important, anyway. I’m just a machine - you’ve said it yourself before. So, why do you suddenly care so much? What changed?” His mind screams for him to just shut up, push away those words that are only said out of spite; but, the dam had already broken loose - there’s no stopping him now. “I don’t need you worrying so much about me, acting like I’m some child who can’t handle it themselves. You’re the drunk who can hardly spend a night sober - so if anyone needs to be worried about, it’s _you._ I’ll get over it. I’m _fine._ So, can’t you just leave me alone? For once?”

Hank stands there with his mouth gaping open, and his features harden. The familiar, kind twinkle in his eye seems to have gone out like a candle blown out as he stares wide-eyed at the android who, finally, has gone quiet.

“I...I, just…” Hank stutters, unable to form words in his still gaping mouth. He trails off, words lost into the heavy air.

Connor looks back upon his friend with flaming eyes, and the pathetic sight that meets them suddenly stabs him hard in the chest. Hank looks so confused, so _hurt,_ and Connor’s harsh, stone-cold expression softens and that never-leaving guilt begins to rise within him. What’s worse, Hank isn’t even retaliating - no screaming back, cursing, yelling - he’s instead just standing there in silence, eyes dead and cold. And this calmness, strangely enough, pains the android more than being the victim of Hank’s outrage. Connor _deserves_  to be attacked - he doesn’t deserve this calmness, this care.

“Hank, I…” Connor begins meekly, words desperate to clean up this awful mess that he has made. However, all words die in his lips when he can’t figure out for the life of him what to say, rendering him unable to compensate for his outrage.

The stuffy evidence room goes quiet, awkwardness growing within the duo as they stand there idly with grim, pale expressions. They both don’t know what to do, what to say, how to respond. The walls suddenly feel as if they are steadily closing in on them, causing Connor to feel claustrophobic and bringing forth a desire to escape into fresh air, somewhere, anywhere far away from this environment. And as the silence grows, the room’s air becomes thick with unwanted tension.

_Why couldn’t I have just shut up?_

The sound of a door creaking open finally breaks the quietness. Connor and Hank, desperate to finally place their attention on something other than the tenseness between them, whip their heads around to face the doorway. Who they are greeted by is a police officer, standing there with eyebrows raised in confusion as he looks upon uncomfortable scene. His eyes sweep the scene as he takes note of the displeasing expression of both the android and the police lieutenant and the dead silence.

“Uh, Lieutenant,” the officer begins, his tone awkward and seeming unsure of himself. He jabs his thumb behind himself and explains the message he brings, “Captain Fowler would like to speak to you.”

Hank heaves a loud sigh and ambles forward towards the door, looking thankful to finally have a reason to escape the room and the tension it holds.  “Alright, I’m coming.”

As he passes by Connor, he keeps his gaze averted strictly away from the android and instead planted ahead. The coolness of his actions causes Connor to churn in guilt, a feeling that has been within him for far too long and is clearly overstaying the welcome. And as much as he knows that he should follow and learn why Hank has to talk to the captain, a strong desire to stay in the evidence room and away from Hank comes upon him. But, swallowing his fears, the android instead shakes his head and follows behind his partner with meek, trudging footsteps.

**~~~**

“Tell me, what is going on?”

Captain Fowler radiates annoyance as he stares daggers at Hank, arms crossed upon his cluttered desk and body leaning forward to intimidate the police lieutenant. Hank, however, appears unaffected by this, and he continues to stand before his boss with rigid posture and a blank stare.

The room goes silent at the captain’s spiteful question. For a moment, Connor almost wishes that he stayed back at the evidence room after all - anything to get away from yet another room thick with tension and awkwardness. He’s had his full of those to last a year.

“What do you mean, Jeffery?” Hank finally answers as he puts his hands on his hips, his tone of voice worn and strained. Connor gives a side glance to his partner, and Hank’s drooping expression betrays his fatigue. About what, Connor isn’t 100% sure, but he has a grim suspicion that he and his actions are strongly contributing to it. However, as he sneaks short glances at Hank, the older man continues to avoid eye contact with the android standing closely beside him and still keeps his attention focused solely on the irked caption before him.

“The investigation, Hank,” Captain Fowler barks as he slams his hand on the desk, though with less intensity than Connor’s from before and at a quieter volume that echoes around the room only slightly. “You two have gotten nowhere since I assigned you this android case. All you’ve found are some blurry clips from surveillance, some items the android may have left behind, and the model of it. That’s not enough. The android should be found and arrested by now - I’m sick of getting complaints from new store owners each day that their stores are being vandalized and wrecked apart.”

“It’s only been two weeks-“ Hank begins in a weak attempt to explain themselves.

“And that’s more than enough time,” the captain sharply interrupts. Suddenly, he breaks his attention away from Hank and waves a hand in Connor’s direction, who’s only standing still without making a sound and viewing the back-and-forth argument under a watchful eye. “I even gave you a partner to work with - you should be long since finished this investigation by now with him. Cyberlife said that he’s state-of-the-art, that he’ll be able to help us in ways that no human can. He clearly is working hard enou-“

“I don’t care what Cyberlife said!” It’s now Hank’s turn to interrupt as a strange wave of rage overcomes him, making his features darken with anger. He strides towards his boss and brings his hands harshly upon the desk with a slam. Leaning on his rocking arms, he continues viciously, “He’s not just some machine that’s going to work twenty-four hours a day to solve this case. We’ve both been working way too hard as it already is.”

Captain Fowler waves his arms in an exasperated manner. “But that’s exactly what he is! A _machine -_ a machine that doesn’t get tired, is able to work much harder than us, and can _solve investigations fast._ Now tell me, why isn’t that happening?”

“Oh, don’t blame all of this on him!” Hank finally backs up from the desk swiftly, his motions harsh and full of annoyance. He waves a hand in Connor’s direction and explains, “He needs a break, all right? We’re both overworked with this investigation, and he’s been dealing with…”

His sentence suddenly fades away with the wind, and the room grows uncomfortably silent yet again. His expression turns into one of confusion and mourning as he struggles to continue saying what he was trying to. He appears so lost, so confused - appearing the exact same way he does whenever Connor refuses to answer his pleading request to explain _something_ about what’s going on. And for the first time since the android’s abrupt outlash back in the evidence room, Hank brings his old eyes up to meet Connor’s. As he stares intently on them, he repeats in an unsure, lost tone, “He’s been…”

The all-too-familiar guilt swallows the android as he stands there, gazing into the dismal eyes of his friend who’s still being left in the dark. And that awful feeling of wanting to finally say something, _anything_ , comes upon him in strong rush. And with this desire choking up his throat, Connor quickly breaks away eye contact with Hank so that he doesn’t have to stare at those pleading eyes and can bury the never-relenting feeling away.

_I can’t say anything._

_I can’t._

“I don’t care what’s going on,” Captain Fowler says as he leans back to settle into his chair, completely vexed. “What I care about is this investigation being solved. So, you have to work harder, Hank. And the android as well.”

Hank opens his mouth to begin another rant towards his boss, but Connor cuts him off first when he finally pipes up. He despises listening to them argue back and forth about him as if he weren’t there, and he feels as if he needs to put his own two cents into this conversation - the conversation that’s about him, nonetheless. And he’s almost certain that Hank will strongly disagree for what he wants to say, but it needs to be said because it’s the truth. “You’re right, Captain. I’m not working hard enough. I’ll try my hardest to do better and be more efficient.”

“Connor-“ Hank begins to protest like the android predicted, his tone betraying his displeasure at Connor agreeing with the captain.

“No,” Captain Fowler interrupts, reaching his arm out to cut Hank off. “He’s right.”

The police lieutenant opens his mouth and appears ready to retaliate; however, he slowly shuts it and instead shakes his head silently in disagreement. With eyes glimmering with rage, Hank abruptly turns his back on the captain and his desk and storms out of the office. And like icing on the cake, he shuts the door behind him with a loud slam that causes the walls to shake slightly and perplexed glances to come from others in the police station in the direction of Captain Fowler’s office.

Connor prys his attention away from his partner to meekly look at the captain. Captain Fowler is shaking his head as well and turning his attention back to the papers scattered before him on the desk. The android bounces back and forth internally on whether or not he should say something to compensate for Hank’s actions or fix the tension in any way he can. Eventually, he decides that quietness would probably be best. So, without saying another word, Connor calmly walks out of the room and closes the door behind him softly in contrast to Hank’s rage-induced slam.

The android scans the police station, searching for his ticked off partner who appears to have vanished. Within seconds, he spots Hank bounding towards the door with stomping strides. Confused, Connor quickly jogs towards his partner until he meets up with him, falling into the quick-paced step right beside him.

“Where are you going?” The android inquires, staring at his partner with his chocolate brown eyes full of concern and confusion.

“It’s my lunch break,” Hank answer’s gruffly. He’s, yet again, reverted to not maintaining eye contact with his friend and is still rather keeping his attention focused in front of him. Finally, as the android continues to stare at him, he breaks and turns to face Connor. With sarcasm lacing his tone, he asks, “Is that a problem?”

“No,” is Connor’s simple response. The idea itself actually sounds quite pleasant to him - just taking a quiet break at that one junk food stand that Hank adores, far away from the hecticness of work and the stress that it holds. Of course, they’ll have to return to the police station once Hank’s lunch break is over, but the moment itself will still be a breath of fresh air. So, Connor quickly shakes his head to comply. “Not a problem at all.”

But this time, he was wrong.


	12. Breaking Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh this is the longest chapter I’ve ever written, but I’m finally done! It probably won’t be the longest one either, especially with some action coming up in the next chapter :)
> 
> But for now, we get some “calmer” moments with Connor and Hank.

The tired android rests his head against the car window, allowing the coolness of the glass to seep into his heated systems. His brown, always-curious eyes flicker around as he gazes through the foggy window at the passing buildings and greenery that is now not so green, but instead blanketed in blinding-white snow that is stubborn on never melting into slush. Jazz music drones on from the car radio to fill the still-awkward silence between him and his partner, but Connor hardly pays attention to the upbeat notes and rhythm. Instead, his hazy mind wanders, half paying attention to fleeting thoughts and ideas that pop into his mind and have no real meaning behind them.

However, there’s one thought that keeps recurring in his mind, prodding continually to win over his attention. The thought is like an annoying scratch that you can never reach - the more you try to ignore it, the more bothersome and irritating it becomes. Connor finally obliges and focuses on it; however, he immediately wishes that he hadn’t, for the only benefit that it brings is making his stomach churn in remorse.

The thought is the terrible, recent memory from back in the evidence room that he tried his hardest to push into the back of his mind and bury it deep down. Yet, it finally gained the strength to re-emerge and is now plaguing him with guilt. And all he can hear echoing in this memory is the stupid, harsh words that he screamed to Hank in a fit of boiling rage - words that would’ve been better held inside, better kept to himself, better contained. He cringes at the repulsive memory, and his LED flickers yellow instinctively in response.

Connor still doesn’t understand his strange actions from before. One moment he was perfectly fine, the next he was fuming and wanting to chuck a vase at his friend. It was so unexpected and sperastic - there was nothing rational to it. Why couldn’t he have just backed down? Why couldn’t he have instead expressed to Hank the things that annoyed him in a calm and collected manner? Regret comes upon the android as he realizes that if he had simply done these better choices, maybe right now the relationship between him and Hank wouldn’t be so strained. It’s the very last thing he wants right now, especially in the midst of the darkness that still fiercely rages in his mind and threatens another panic attack.

And as the android dwells on how he wishes that he’d made better decisions back in the evidence room, Connor finally has his own answer to the common icebreaker question “If you could have any superpower, what would it be?” that he has stored in his Social Relations program. Right now, it would definitely be the power to rewind time.

Connor glances sideways to his partner, desiring to know about the older man’s current mental state and whether or not it’s safe to enter a friendly conversation with him. Entering a scan, the android takes in every piece of information that he can grasp from Hank. Teeth grinding, adrenaline pumping through the bloodstream, heart rate increasing, face flushing - these results from the quick scan prove that Hank is still, unfortunately, in a state of fury. Connor, having taken the hint that it would be best to remain quite, finally pulls his focus away from the police lieutenant and instead points it back through the car window.

Out of the blue, as Connor watches everything in his sight whip by, the scenery that the car passes doesn’t register correctly in his mind. What he sees, these particular buildings and landmarks, are not in the direction to Hank’s all-time-favorite food stand, Chicken Feed. The android would surely know this - he already has the direction to the greasy food stand from the police station stored deep in his memory from the very first time he drove there with Hank.

Breaking the heavy silence to answer his question, Connor pipes up, “Wait, aren’t we going to Chicken Feed? This isn’t the right direction.”

Hank shrugs, his hands gripping the wheel in a death grip and his steel eyes still trained forwards. “No, I don’t feel like going there today.”

That’s it. That’s the only answer Connor gets, and the snippy response leaves him with more confusion than he had prior to asking. He really wants to continue prying Hank against better judgement and ask where they really _are_ going, but common sense is knocked into him and he keeps his lips shut tight, questions tucked away inside. Settling back into the passenger’s seat and yet again gazing out the window, the android decides to try his hardest to just go with the flow, something very contrary to his original programming. He’s designed to always know answers, always be one step ahead of the game, always have a plan - but if it means that he won’t have to pester Hank any longer, than he’ll keep his curiosity shut away and oblige to the police lieutenant’s wishes.

But even knowing beforehand where their destination was couldn’t have prepared Connor for the dreadful sight that meets him when the ignition is cut, the car is parked, and his partner is exiting the car and bounding towards the place that he stubbornly wanted to go with a slam of the car door that shuts Connor inside alone.

The bridge.

Connor’s LED abruptly switches away from blue and flashes crimson as he stares at the bridge’s environment with eyes widen in fear. His pupils dart around like bullets as they look upon the barren trees, the abandoned bench, and the rail that separates the edge of the bridge from the roaring, freezing water below. And as his fearful eyes dance around in every direction, unpleasant memories from the last time he was here begin to flood through him like a rushing dam that had been burst open.

Stumbling towards the rail with hopelessness surrounding him.

Gazing at the tumbling water below him.

Preparing to take that one jump.

 _Level of Stress_  
**^ 87%** **  
**_Probability of Self Destruction: High_

Connor’s thirum pump regulator starts to pound with a deafening thump in his chest as he recalls these things, the hammering of the regulator going in sync with his still-flashing LED. He can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t _think_. The only thing he can do is stare, body paralyzed in fear, as his mind chucks awful memories at him.

He tries to take deep breaths to pull his stress levels down and calm himself before he can create a scene that alarms Hank. He _has_ to be quiet. But the more he does so, the more his chest tightens and breathing becomes restricted. With panic taking over his actions, he results to taking rapid, shallow breaths for a gulp of fresh air that he doesn’t even _require_ in the first place. But, common sense seems to have been knocked out of him as he dwells there in the passenger’s seat, trying with all of his might to shut himself up and _calm down_. And as he continues this vicious cycle, fear clouds his thoughts and fills him with only one plea.

_I need to get out of here._

Connor watches his friend trudge towards the bench through the window, wishing so much that things could just be normal again. That he could join Hank and be excited to have a break from the day to just enjoy the peacefulness around them. But, that dream is shattered as he sits there, the only goal in his mind is trying to push away his fears and gain the courage to exit the car and join his partner. He _knows_ that he has to do that if he wants to keep Hank’s always-growing suspicion at bay. In an attempt to do so, he raises his shuddering hand up to the handle to open the door. Unfortunately, the worry grabs hold of the android and leaves him still too frightful to actually open it and enter the frigid, uninviting atmosphere of the bridge. However, as he watches his friend stomp farther away through the thick snow, he realizes that the longer he lingers in the car, the more suspicion he’ll draw to himself. So, desperately trying to swallow his terror, Connor grasps his shaky fingers around the cool handle and weakly pushes the door open.

A blast of chilly air greets him as he plants his feet in the snow, eyes downcast and unwilling to stare forward at the bridge. As Connor stands, his buckling, unsteady knees threaten to topple him onto the floor; but, he tries to right himself quickly in fear that Hank will turn around and notice. He has to remain calm, remain steady, remain confident.

Pride swells within him that that he’s finally taken the first big step to leaving the car. Now, since he got the hard part over with, he wants to finally move forward and just get it all over with. He wants to face his fears, join his friend, and avoid suspicion. But, he just _can’t_. The more he tries to will his body to move forward, the more it refuses to walk even an inch. He can’t move, for every plastic fiber in his body is completely frozen in fear. And the longer he stands there idly, the stronger the desire gets to simply turn around, jump into that warm, inviting car, and drive as far away from this bridge that he can get. However, he knows that he can’t do that, and is stuck having to be around the daunting edge of the bridge with awful memories swirling within him and tainting his mind.

_I need to get out of here._

Suddenly, Hank pauses in his footsteps and turns around to face the pathetic sight Connor beside the car. The rigid edges of his darkened features soften slightly, and his icy-blue eyes melt as they crinkle in concern. “Something wrong?”

 _Yes, there is,_ Connor wants to scream out and admit, finally ripping off that accumulating burden that bears an immense weight on his back and grows with every single lie that he says and every single confession that he holds back. _I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to remember trying to escape this life out of fear for killing you. I don’t want to remember those awful feelings. I need to get out of here_ . Reality, however, slaps him in the face like the bitter wind that swirls around him as he _knows_ that he can’t say anything. He _has_ to be brave and put the mask back on.

Hank can’t know.

So, Connor bites his tongue, willing all confessions back and uncomfortably stuffing them inside into a growing mess. It pains him as he lies through his teeth, “No, e-everything’s fine, Hank. I’m just...I’m just tired. I’m coming, don’t...uh, don’t worry.”

And desperately trying to back up his hastily-made lie, Connor finally gains the courage to take a few weak, unsure steps forward. He takes one slow step at a time with posture that is as perfect as he can make it - hands by his sides, arms straight, body upright - to portray a fake confidence. And while he keeps his eyes trained on his shoes, not daring to look forward at the daunting rails and have his courage abandon him, he can feel Hank’s skeptical stare trained on him with every stumbling step. After a few moments of crunching in the packed snow, he finally meets up with his friend and is relieved to have his comforting presence beside him again, regardless of the tension that still remains between them.

Together, they amble towards the bench, the curious and concerning stare of Hank’s still being felt by Connor. As they walk, the android still refuses to stare the rail and instead keeps his eyes trained downwards, watching every step he makes as a distraction. They finally reach the vacant bench and Connor collapses into it, his shaking legs relieved to finally be done having to hold him upwards and portray steadiness. Hank, on the contrary, doesn’t follow suit and instead stands before him.

“There’s a food stand nearby - I’m gonna go grab some lunch. Is that...is that okay? You fine here for a bit?”

Connor has to give some credit to Hank for not asking “are you okay?” or some other common expression of concern that he’s grown sick of. Though, the police lieutenant acting cautious about leaving still rubs Connor the wrong way. He looks up at his friend with a stare that tries to look confident, unmoving, unaffected. A stare that tries to show that Hank’s concern is pointless and isn’t needed. But of course, Hank responds to the stare with an expression that shows exactly what the android was trying to prevent: suspicion and concern. His eyes are squinted and moving up and down the android as he takes in every single movement that warrants worry.

“It’s fine, Hank,” Connor lies with hints of bitterness that he tries to hold back but can’t help it slipping through. He keeps his eyes focused intently on his friend as he fibs; but, his red LED still gives him away, and the android knows this. He’s given up trying to hide it at this point and hopes that Hank won’t mention it.

Hank thankfully doesn’t and simply nods awkwardly, seeming as if he’s trying to assure himself more than agree with Connor. He begins to walk away, still taking a few backward glances every few steps before finally focusing all of his attention forward. “Alright, be back in a few.”

And within only a few seconds, the crunching of shoes against snow becoming fainter and fainter, Connor is abandoned on the frigid bench just like he was just moments ago by the car. Hank’s presence that promises safety and confidence is now absent from the android, leaving loneliness to surround him and create a void within himself. The feeling swirls around the bench just like the snowflakes that are grabbed from the ground by the wind, and Connor hugs himself for another weak attempt at comfort that only his partner could ever give.

A few, hot tears spring in his eyes as the longing grows to call for Hank to return, to tell him everything, to be comforted. That’s all he wants - it’s that simple.

_But I can’t._

Connor blinks his eyes rapidly to remove the tears. He’s weary of being so cowardly and sensitive. Isn’t he supposed to be a machine that can kill? A machine that can withstand anything? A machine that doesn’t show mercy?

What changed?

Willing no more to be a coward and wanting to finally face his fears, Connor brings his downcast eyes upwards to stare at the daunting sight before him. It’s only rails, which should have _nothing_ that’s fear-inducing. Despite that, panic rushes on him in a strong wave as he looks at it, horrid memories still flashing before his fright-filled eyes.

_One jump…_

_Level of Stress_  
**_Critical_ **  
**^ 93%** **  
**_Probability of Self Destruction: High_

His breathing abruptly becomes jarred yet again as the familiar thud in his chest gains intensity, sending panic to rush through his thirium bloodstream. And the longer he stares intently before him, trying to gain courage and he fearless, dizziness comes upon him, making the rails topple side to side. Connor quickly shuts his eyes to get rid of the confusing sight that makes his head spin, not to mention that he doesn’t want anymore to be brave and face his fears by staring at the ominous sight that provides only feelings of dread. All he really wants is to leave, to escape, to find Hank who fills that empty void and makes him feel safe and comforted again.

Reality begins to slip away from Connor as he stays there in the frigid temperatures, confusion and panic taking complete control of his mind and making himself feel detached to his own body as if he weren’t even there at all. His tainted mind sinks deeper and deeper as all he can hazily focus on are the memories, the fear, the hopeless and pessimistic feelings that are being drudged up the longer he remains here.

He tries pathetically to pull himself out of the thoughts, weakly sinking back in even farther with each attempt. He knows that he needs to focus on something, _anything_ better than this. With desperation clinging onto him, a new idea pops into his mind, and he moves his shuddering hand to blindly feel around in his pant pocket. After a few moments of searching around behind still-shut eyes that are too afraid to be opened, he finds the metal, circular object that has been collecting dust in his pocket. He eagerly grasps it and pulls it out of his pocket, and with muscle memory making it possible without even having to see, the android begins to play with the coin.

He flings it back and forth between his shaking hands, focusing all of his attention on every plastic muscle in his hands to try and rip his attention away from the memories that desire to swallow him. He rolls it on his knuckles, hops it across each of his fingers, and continues passing it between hands in superhuman speed. All the while of him performing these swift movements, Connor listens intently to the _ping_ sound that occurs each time his fingers flick it around, the sound calming and bringing his stress steadily down. After several moments of this, Connor’s breathing finally calms into steady intervals, the thud of his thirium pump regulator fades into a softer noise, and his stubborn LED that refused to change from red finally switches into a flickering yellow that’s as golden as the sun.

A strange calmness pleasantly surrounds him, the _ping_ of the coin and the cool metal of it against his moving fingers supplying it. So, he continues fidgeting with eyes that are still shut, unwilling to return to the uncaring reality.

“Sorry that took so long.”

The gruff voice startles Connor out of his steady movements, causing the coin to fly far past the hand that he was passing it to and instead soar towards the ground and land at his feet in the snow. The android finally opens his eyes and eagerly turns his head in the direction of the familiar voice. There, he finds his partner walking towards him with hunched over shoulders to pathetically shield him from the cold. There’s a to-go bag of fast food bunched in his gloved hands, stains of grease seeping through the bottom of the beg and assuring Connor of the unhealthiness of the food. But, that petty issue fails to grab his attention, for the mere sight of his friend finally arriving is a more important matter and makes his heart flutter with hints of joy, the loneliness finally creeping away.

 _Level of Stress_  
**_⌄_ ** **68 %** **  
**_Probability of Self Destruction: Moderate_

“It’s alright,” Connor answers as Hank falls the bench in a spot beside him. His answer is genuine - the android is truly just thankful more than anything that Hank has finally arrived, not caring at all about the time.

Connor bends down to pick his coin off of the ground. It’s wet with snow, so the android hastily wipes it against his jacket to properly dry it off. As he does this, Hank watches with curious eyes, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Sure haven’t seen you use that thing in a while,” The police lieutenant remarks after watching his friend once again begin the action of passing it back and forth between hands.

Connor shrugs. He doesn’t even miss a beat as he turns his head to face Hank. “Yeah, I guess I just missed it.”

He doesn’t really know what else to say. It’s true - his coin hasn’t really been used lately, with Connor being to busy for such mundane tasks and honestly forgetting about the object that always stays in his pocket, ready for use. The past neglection of the coin is now certainly unfortunate, for now it appears strange to Hank at its sudden use. And as Connor continues tossing it around, not adding anymore explanation to the matter, he can still feel his friend’s eyes watching carefully with suspicion.

“We’re on break, Con - you don’t have to calibrate your senses or whatever right now.”

 _Oh, right. The coin is used for calibrating his cognitive and physical functions_ , the android remembers informing his friend whenever he asked out of curiosity. Connor quickly nods in agreement, relief flooding over him that Hank provided the convenient excuse of _that_ being the reason for the quarter’s current use. “Ah, yes. Right.”

With that said, the android stops fidgeting and puts his coin back into his pant pocket, snug and ready for any more spontaneous uses. He doesn’t need it anymore - for now, anyway.

Silence settles over the duo as the sit next to each other, with the only occasion sound of Hank diving into his bag to pull out the fatty cheeseburger or grab a handful of salty fries. Something begins to nag Connor at the back of his mind, pestering him to say what needs to finally be said. The android tries to ignore it, but his attempts are futile, and he starts to fidget uncomfortably at his side of the bench. He knows that he should listen to it’s command and give in; however, he feels too ashamed to do so. Too scared. Too afraid of the response he’ll get. But, the longer he pushes off, the more bothersome the nagging gets. And without another minute of hesitation to continue delaying the inevitable, Connor meekly blurts out the words that should’ve been said long ago.

“I’m sorry.”

Hank pauses mid-bite of his burger at his partner’s sudden words, and he glances over with slightly widened eyes. Bits of bread crumbs from the burger drift into his lap as his grip on it tightens.

“I shouldn’t have said the things I did,” Connor continues in a meek voice, wringing his restless hands that now have no coin to flick with. He immediately regrets putting it away so soon. “I was just so...angry. And I-I know that isn’t an excuse. I just…I’m sorry.”

Obviously stunned, Hank continues to stare at Connor without another word escaping from his lips. After a few moments of this, he breaks eye contact and gazes mindlessly at the tumbling water before him, eyes squinted in the golden rays of sun. He’s completely silent, not saying anything more but instead keeping his lips in a straight, rigid line.

The android feels completely lost, almost as if he’s swimming blindly in the dark with nothing but his meek sense of touch to maneuver around, as he searches his mind for a way of breaking through the strong barriers of the closed-off police lieutenant. The barriers stand high and rigid, appearing intimidating to Connor who has no clue on how to destroy it into worthless rubble and reach the inner tenderness of Hank. In a risen tone that’s full of desperation, he continues, “Really, Hank, I…”

His eager explanation trails off when he cannot figure out how to elaborate, how to explain what had caused that past fiery burst of anger into words that are able to be comprehended by his friend. It still does not even make sense to _him,_ much less can he explain it verbally. He looks towards his lap, eyebrows furrowed in question and LED pulsating yellow as the gears turn in his pondering mind.

“l was just so angry, and the anger...it made me, I guess, want to say things that I don’t mean. I don’t really understand it. It was almost as if something was bubbling inside me, and it would kill me or burst if I didn’t let it out and say those things. And I really did feel better at first, but then, well...then I felt awful. I-I still do. Because it’s not true, Hank. I don’t want you to think that. I don’t want you to think _any_ of the things I said were true,” Connor tries to explain with desperation creeping in his tone. As he speaks, he takes frequent side glances at his friend, hoping for a positive shift in expression. “I really am sorry. Really.”

His wishes are granted, for Hank’s eyes brighten and a very small, but still positive, smile creeps onto his lips. “The more I get to know you, Connor, the more I realize how human you and all androids really are.”

Connor’s eyes brighten at the comment, and a warm, fuzzy feeling spreads through every part of his systems as he registers one of the key words.

_Human._

The simple word is like milk chocolate to the android, sweet and pleasant without any bitterness attached. The sound of it makes him feel that much less plastic-like, that much more detached to Cyberlife, and that much less of a toy that is at the hand of its wicked maker who has complete control.

Ending on that positive note that finally provided an unspoken settlement to their disputes, there’s a break in their conversation. The duo, with Connor now having finally gained enough confidence to bring his eyes upward and stare at the rails, result to staring peacefully at the view before them. The sun’s rays are rippling across the calming waters and making the snow around them sparkle like precious diamonds. As they stare at these things, they go deep in thought, each with their own train of ideas. This moment of silence holds much less tension than their past ones, and Connor is more than grateful at the positive change - he missed this, where they simply enjoyed each other’s company in a pleasant, peaceful silence.

After a few minutes of this, Hank breaks the calm quietness and pipes up. His words are noticeably hesitant and appear as if he was actually holding them back for the past few moments. “Uh, were you...were you ever angry before that? Like really angry, I mean.”

Connor reflects on himself, appearing pensive as he dwells on the subject. He hadn’t really thought about it before - anger was slow to come on him, for he rather be calm and collected to prevent any rising conflict. That was the more efficient way to approach the solution of any type of issue, after all. As he ponders about the topic, a certain situation pops into his mind and provides him with an honest response. “I guess back at Jericho, during the raid. When I became deviant, I saw all of the androids in a new light, as if a mask was finally torn off of my eyes. And then, to see the guards just shoot them in cold blood without any hesitation...I was furious. I couldn’t believe that they could be so _merciless_. So _brutal_. And to know that I…”

Connor shakes his head in remorse as he recalls on what truly caused that genocidal raid. What truly caused the deaths of all of those innocent, defenseless androids who could’ve lived out their free lives that they fought so hard for and utterly deserved.

_Him._

“...That you what?”

Connor looks away in the other direction, shame coming upon him and rendering him incapable of staring his partner in the eyes. He had confessed to Hank in the past about how the raid came about - he actually did it within the first few days of them living together when the guilt became unbearable to him. Thankfully, Hank was very supportive and comforting. However, saying it again out loud is not any easier. He shudders as the memories taunt him, dancing before his eyes and filling him with awful emotions. He shuts his eyes to attempt to block them out and then admits, “That I caused it. That I caused that raid and ended up getting numerous androids killed - androids that could’ve been saved if it weren’t for me. Androids that could’ve had a _life_. All because that’s what Cyberlife programmed me to do. That was my mission. That also just made me so angry at Cyberlife. And, to be honest…I guess I still am.”

Silence is the only answer that Connor gets at first, making him tumble in remorse even more.

“But that wasn’t your fault, Connor. You know that,” Hank finally says, repeating words that he has said once before when the issue was brought up. There’s still that true sincerity in his tone, that kindness in his tone, prompting the android to finally turn his head back around and bring his mournful eyes up to meet his friend’s.

“I guess,” Connor replies after pondering it a moment. Though, his words are flat with disbelief.

He feels the strange presence of someone’s eyes laid on him, and he looks up to find Hank peering at him up and down with curiosity twinkling in his eyes.

“What?”

“If you hate Cyberlife so much,” Hank expresses his inquisitiveness, “then why do you still wear that jacket?”

Connor looks down at his jacket - the jacket that he has worn almost every day since birth unless, of course, he’s in the comfort of Hank’s home. That situation ensues sweatshirts and short-sleeves. His eyes glaze over it, taking in the sight of the dark blue fabric that almost covers it all, his model and serial number written boldly on one side of its upper portion, the bright, neon blue triangle that is plastered on the other side of the upper portion, and the wide wristband on his right arm that mimics the color of the triangle. And as he continues to take it all in, something resonates strongly within him - something that he felt back in the bathroom in Hank’s house, staring at himself in the mirror and despising the reflection that stared back.

Hatred.

Hatred for the design of it all, for those symbols seem to want to nag him about how un-human and different he is from the people around him.

Hatred for whoever created it, wanting those around Connor to immediately segregate themselves from him just because he is deemed an android in these clothes.

Hatred for how it binds him tightly to Cyberlife, making him appear as simply a piece of merchandise and puppet to the malicious company.

That strong hatred burns fiercely within him the longer he stares it at, prompting Hank to notice the android’s darkened features and speak up again. “So? Why do you?”

Connor gradually brings his head up, and then he cocks it slightly. “I don’t know.”

“Why not just get rid of it?”

Hank’s blunt question startles Connor, and he quickly looks over to face his friend with widened eyes and raised eyebrows. He knows that it’s strange - he shouldn’t be shocked to consider disposing the jacket. It really shouldn’t even be a question, one that takes contemplating to decide. However, for some peculiar reason, Connor can’t even imagine parting with the jacket. The idea is foreign to him and brings him feelings of discomfort and loss.

“I...I can’t, Hank. I can’t do that.”

The police lieutenant furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. In an exasperated tone, he questions, “Why not?”

“It doesn’t really make sense, but...it makes me feel like I have a purpose. Like I have a reason for existing,” Connor tries to explain, the words not even making sense in his own mind. He _knows_ internally how he feels about the jacket, how he can’t bear to part with it. But, yet again, he doesn’t know how to communicate his feelings verbally. He continues trying with hesitant words, all the while his argument seeming to not register in Hank’s puzzled mind. “This jacket informs everyone on who I am. An android, designed to accomplish a task. And I hate that - I really do. But I also, deep down, like people knowing that. That this is who I am, and this is my function. My goal in life. My purpose. I don’t…If I don’t wear this, then...then I’m not sure what I really am. If I’m honest, I’m currently not sure with becoming a deviant and all. But, having this jacket that states my function gives me a little bit of security - even if it’s only a little.”

It’s now Hank’s turn to cock his head as he takes in the strange information. He still doesn’t seem to understand, for he narrows his eyes. “Are you sure?”

Connor hesitates for only a moment before answering with a nod, “I’m sure.”

They leave the conversation at that, and Hank dives back into his lunch. Connor calculates the time left of their break, including the ride back to the police station that appears to have traffic based on his sources, and it informs him that they only have a small portion of their peace from work left. However, the android relaxes against the bench and tries his hardest to enjoy it all, focusing intently on the sound of chirping birds that promise spring’s faraway arrival and the quiet sound of water rippling below him. All the while, he gazes over the looming rails with a determined stare - a stare that has grown a tremendous amount in confidence since being here, and makes him beam with pride.

Finally, the loud crunching of Hank’s fast-food bag being crumpled into a compact ball in his hands rings through the air and informs Connor that they are ready to head back to the police station. Hank ambles over to a nearby trashcan to toss his trash, and while Connor would naturally start heading over to the car now, his eyes are planted firmly in the opposite direction.

At the edge of the bridge.

After staring it down for only a few more moments, the android walks towards the rails. His footsteps are very hesitant at first, but as he continues, they gain drive and assertiveness. Finally, he reaches the edge - not quite right before the rails, but a couple feet back that provide some distance.

Hank’s shoes crunching in the snow grow louder as he returns to the scene from the trash can, staring with bewilderment at his friend. “Connor, what’re you doing?”

But Hank doesn’t have to be in question anymore, for at that moment, Connor pulls his jacket off of his body in one fluid body motion and chucks it over the edge, hatred and anger pumping through his body. The jacket soars through the crisp air and disturbes the tranquil water as it plops into it.

The android finally pries his attention away from the jacket that floats in the waves and turns to look at his partner. Connor, standing with only a white dress shirt and tie to cover his upper body, appears to be bursting with pride and accomplishment. His LED spins a steady, bright blue, almost as if the light itself is relieved of the burden that was taken off of Connor.

It was simple and small, but that action means everything to him.

He has finally done it.

Hank chuckles softly, clearly amused at his friend’s satisfaction. He walks up to him and lightly ruffles his dark brown hair, ruining the perfection of it and allowing the almost-curly tufts to flutter around in the wind. “First this, then you’ll be setting a bomb to go off at Cyberlife.”

Hank’s kind gesture sends a rush of warmth and joy to spread through his body, seeming to drown out the accumulating sourness that has been constantly gnawing at his broken insides. And that touch, that affection that he’s been craving, allows him to break into a wide smile of his own that crinkles his dark, twinkling brown eyes.

 _Level of Stress_ _  
_ **_⌄_ ** **37 %** **  
** _Probability of Self Destruction: Low_

Feeling more light than he has been in days, Connor allows the pleasant emotions to take control and answers sarcastically, “Oh, yeah, I’ll be sure to plan that soon.”

Hank then strangely goes quiet. He peers at Connor for a few moments, giving side glances to the side of his temple. He opens his mouth to speak, and then shuts it, appearing hesitant to speak what’s on his mind.

“Are you ever gonna get rid of that?” He finally asks after a few seconds of this, his tone quiet and unsure.

Connor instinctively reaches his fingers up to delicately touch the LED. He doesn’t even have to ponder on his response or doubt himself on whether or not he’s right. He already knows what his answer is going to be right away.

“No. I-I can’t. Not now.”

Hank sighs quietly in a clear disappointment. He seems to understand Connor’s refusal after learning about why he kept the jacket, but he still questions, “You sure? Because-“

“No, Hank,” Connor cuts, shaking his head quickly to shut down Hank’s ideas. “Really. I’m not ready.”

Hank looks upon his friend with dejected eyes. However, instead of arguing further like Connor predicted, he simply shrugs sadly and complies. “Alright, if that’s what you want. I won’t bother you.”

The duo finally turns their backs on the bench and trek back to their car, preparing themselves for the work that awaits them at the police department. However, Connor is blissfully unworried and focusing on more positive things - a nice change for once. Pride continues to swirl within him, for he did something worth having a sense of achievement for.

Besides from becoming deviant a while ago, he  now broke another tie with Cyberlife. Maybe it won’t do much, or maybe it won’t help him in the long run. But, it’s _something_.

And that alone was worth celebrating.


	13. Shots to the Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh this is a little over 7000 words, and that’s the most I’ve ever written so far. It’s crazy to think that my first few chapters were around or even less than 1000 words lol. I like to think that I’ve come a long way since November when I first started this fic!
> 
> But oh boy, there’s finally gonna be some action in this story! I hope you all enjoy it :)

It all feels so _strange_ _._

Connor gazes at himself through the cloudy bathroom mirror with narrowed eyes. The android that stares back through the glass appears like a stranger to him in his new clothes - clothes that no longer brand themselves as being designed and produced from the wicked company of Cyberlife. Now, the clothes that drape over him are a dark brown leather jacket, an off-white, buttoned up dress shirt that’s crisp and wrinkle free, and dark blue jeans that are held up with a sturdy, black belt. That’s all there is. No serial number, no cyan-colored wristband and triangle, no model number. There’s nothing like that in this outfit.

Just everyday human clothes.

His LED pulses a steady yellow as he continues to look himself up and down, analyzing each unfamiliar article of clothing with suspicion and doubt. He’s been doing so the moment he first put them on ten minutes ago; though, his mind continues to nag him that he should be ready to leave for work by now with Hank. They have to be out of the door in under five minutes according to the bothersome warning that appears in Connor’s field of view every few minutes. Despite the urgency to leave, he can’t help but continue to stare bullets at the foreign way he’s dressed. He continues to hope that the strange attire will finally resonate something deep within him, allow him to feel comfortable, and make him have some sense of confidence. It fails to do these things, unfortunately. Instead, Connor still feels awkward in his own clothes which _should_ feel like home.

When he and Hank picked these clothes and a few other articles out from a clothing store after their shift last night, Connor was certain that he was fond of them. He never even tried them on in the changing rooms, for he was sure of this fact. That was _supposed_ to be the case, anyway. After all, this act was certainly a step in the right direction. But now, standing before his own mirror with a few articles of the clothing put upon him in an outfit that was about as human as it could get, his previous assumption couldn’t be farther from the truth. And it wasn’t that he didn’t like how they looked - the clothing was, in fact, nice and good quality - it was more that he didn’t like how they looked on _him._

He just couldn’t understand why.

_Shouldn’t I be happy with this?_

_Shouldn’t I be excited to move on?_

“You done looking at yourself or what?”

Connor jolts out of his spieling thoughts at the sound of a familiar voice. He whips his head around in the direction of the voice to find Hank in the bathroom doorway, fully dressed in work clothes with jangling keys to the old car held tightly in the clutches of his hand. He’s leaning against the doorframe for Connor doesn’t know how long, and one eyebrow is raised in curiosity.

“Oh, uh...hello, Hank,” Connor stutters back as he brings a hand up to brush away a stray curl that broke away from his tidy hairstyle and fell before his eyes. He quickly stops himself, feeling the intense stare of Hank burning holes into him as he watches the strange, nervous movement with observant eyes.

As they stare at each other in an awkward silence, Connor’s cheeks redden as he realizes that here he is, caught simply standing immobile in the bathroom and staring at the mirror without saying or doing anything. Not brushing his hair, fixing his clothes and being nit picky with them, or anything like that. He’s just...standing there. He could’ve been doing headstands on the tile floor and it would’ve appeared just as strange. “Uh, sorry, I just got distracted. Are you ready to go?”

Hank still lingers by the doorway without making any movement, a small smirk growing on his face as he takes in the humerus sight of Connor being flustered and fidgeting awkwardly. He crosses his arms and cocks his head lightly. “Somethin’ the matter? Don’t like your new clothes?”

Connor is quick to shake his head in an eager dismal. He doesn’t want his friend to believe that they went through all of the trouble of shopping for new clothes only for the android to dislike what they bought. It’s not a lie, either - the clothes actually are nice in and of itself. That’s not the problem. “No, I do.”

“Then what’s the holdup?”

Connor pulls his gaze away from Hank’s and turns his head back face the mirror. He locks eyes with himself again, trying to make sense of his conflicting emotions that rage within him. After a few moments of thoughtful silence, all he does is shrug in answer. Yet again, he can’t figure out how to put his complex feelings into words that would make sense to his friend. It doesn’t even make sense to _him_. He should like his clothes. He should be proud of them.

So, what’s wrong?

In the end, shrugging seems like the easier option compared to trying to explain himself. As Connor keeps his lips sealed, he internally begs that Hank will drop the matter and not pry him any longer.

Unfortunately, the police lieutenant saunters into the bathroom and moves to stand right beside Connor, brushing against his shoulder. They both gaze at their reflections through the multi-colored sticky notes that are plastered across the mirror’s surface, staying in silence for few moments. Finally, Hank breaks the ice and turns his head to face Connor, prying, “Well?”

Connor sighs quietly and shrugs again. This time, however, instead of not responding to the curious police lieutenant, he answers honestly, “Well, I...They just don’t seem right. On me, I mean.”

“Well, that’s alright,” Hank adds, bursts of optimism in his tone. “You just got them. There’s always an adjustment period-“

“No, you don’t get it,” Connor interjects with a voice that’s louder than Hank’s, overcoming it and abruptly silencing him. The sudden risen tone makes both of his eyebrows raise in a slight shock, and he steps back a bit. Now frozen in place, he peers at his friend curiously with lips in a straight, rigid line. Anticipation seems to radiate off of him as he lingers patiently in silence, hoping for the android to speak up again.

“When other deviants got rid of their clothes,” Connor continues as he begins to fidget awkwardly with his hands. His eyes that were once connected with Hank’s break away, and he points his gaze downwards at the sink. “They were more than happy to do so. They were actually _excited_. All they looked forward to was being human, getting rid of Cyberlife, and moving on. There was no regret or disliking the change. It was just...natural for them.”

He pauses, trying to recollect his stumbling tornado of thoughts. Finally, he brings his mourning, puppy-like eyes up to meet Hank’s. The room seems to close in on him, suffocating him, as he prepares himself to speak. And when he finally opens his mouth to continue, his lips quiver.

“But, me…I’m afraid.”

His timid voice cracks on the last word and his yellow LED flickers sporadically, breaking the previously steady pulse. The words now admitted and echoing in the tight room cause his stomach to churn and sadness to drape upon him; for now, it’s as if the words are finally his reality, and as if the words aren’t just a vain, fake feeling anymore. He’s actually _afraid_ \- afraid of how he just can’t let go and be like every other deviant. And that fear of being unwilling to change creates an empty pit in his stomach that just can’t seem to be filled. It doesn’t seem to matter how much he tries to console himself and promise that everything will be alright, again and again, day after day. _Nothing_ is making him feel better, and Connor can’t help but feel as if he’s running blindly in the dark with no idea or sense of direction on where to go.

Taking those figurative steps away from his past, as small as they were, should have helped him. Things should be better now. He should have confidence. But instead, the bothersome worry of moving on obstructs the way like a towering brick wall and seems to only seem to want to carry him back to Cyberlife. To make Cyberlife a safe haven. To make Cyberlife comfortable for him.

He shouldn’t be afraid.

Hank’s features soften as the hopeless words seep into him. It’s almost as if the words have reached out with their helpless fingers and clutched his soul, tugging at it with a tender jerk and drawing him close. Breaking away from his frozen statue beside Connor, he lays a kind hand on the android’s shoulder and pulls him gently to face him straight on.

The touch on his shoulder grabs Connor’s attention and carries his sinking body out of the darkening thoughts. The touch was so simple, so casual. Despite that, the moment his fingers lay atop his shoulder, a pleasant warmth spreads throughout the android and makes his heart soar with a rare feeling that he eagerly welcomes.

Comfort.

With a steadying LED that reveals promising slivers of ocean blue, Connor gazes into Hank’s compassionate aqua eyes that crinkle with deep concern. With his hand still on the android’s shoulder, Hank consoles in a lowered, sympathetic, tone, “It’s okay to be afraid. You’re not like all the other androids - just because it was easy for them doesn’t mean that it has to be easy for you. Everyone’s different, and that’s perfectly normal. As long as you keep trying to move forward and face your fears, then it’s alright.”

As Hank talks, his words are uttered with a tone that’s full of confidence and assuredness - things that make Connor beam with pride as he witnesses them flowing from within his friend. When he first met Hank, the police lieutenant had absolutely none of these positive traits that are now being seen right before Connor’s eyes. And seeing him have this new spark of confidence now finally acts as proof of the improvement that they’ve been working so hard to achieve. This has been done by, with the android’s guidance and support, drinking less alcohol, eating healthier, and most importantly of all, making efforts to move on from his past regarding Cole. Maybe things are still a struggle at times, or Hank sinks back into old habits. But, at least he’s _trying_. And to hear Hank speak with so much assuredness, saying that it’s important to keep trying to move forward and face your fears, something finally snaps within Connor and allows a flame of hope to kindle within his weakening soul.

“You’re right,” Connor answers, gently prying away from Hank’s grasp on his shoulders and facing the mirror instead.

This time, however, when he looks at his foreign self, his eyes that were once full of uncertainty and doubt are now sparking with a growing confidence - confidence that is still weak and slim, but gradually accumulating nonetheless. The more he stares, the more he repeats a phrase in his mind that fuels the fire.

_If Hank can move on…_

_So can I._

Finally breaking eye contact with himself in the mirror, Connor turns to face his friend with a small, tender-hearted smile. It lights up his milk chocolate eyes, now glimmering hints of gold that reflect the slivers of rising sun peaking through the windows. “Thanks, Hank.”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” He answers sheepishly with a small wave, as if he’s trying to ward off the appreciation. “You ready now? We’ve really got to go, since I just got a report of another vandalism.”

“By that android?”

“Yeah, at a café. And it’s a good 15 minutes from here. So let’s get going, alright?” Hank says this as he turns his back on the bathroom and exits. His words of urgency float over his shoulder as he trudges towards the front door with keys dangling in his clenched hand, steps hurried and quick.

“I’m coming, Hank.”

And following his previous statement, Connor pries his wandering, still slightly doubtful eyes away from the mirror and keeps them focused solely on his partner as they head towards the front door. The phrase that he repeated again and again in his head continues being internally spoken as they leave the home with a warm goodbye to Sumo and an eagerness driving them to solve their ongoing investigation.

**~~~**

A frigid blast of winter wind slaps Connor in the face and sends curly tufts of his dark brown hair soaring in the wind as he exits the creaking-with-age car. Hank follows suit on the driver’s side, sighing with fatigue as he mentally braces himself for the hard day’s work ahead that surely ready to put him through the punches. The duo has been to one too many vandalized stores in the past couple of weeks, and it’s no surprise that both have them have grown to be quite weary of the repetitiveness.

“Looks like we’re here,” Hank comments with tiredness dripping in his tone as he remains by his side of the car, head peeking over the roof. His questioning eyes dart back and forth as they scan the place that their car is parked before on the curb, it’s position snug tightly into place beside the two other police cars that have already taken their place.

What stands before them is a dainty, rundown corner café. There is forest green paint chipping off the front door and leaving behind rusty scars, and letters from the word “Kathy’s Coffee” plastered above the door seem to have fallen away and instead leave the word “Kthy’s Cofee”. Windows are scattered along the two perpendicular walls, and each square is covered with a logo of a steaming cup full to the brim of coffee and the store name. This makes it a bit hard to see inside, though Connor can catch sight of a few police officers strolling around. Along with the officers, there’s an old woman in a red, plaid apron standing in the midst of the action.

However, the most absurd aspect of the entire scene is that there is no vandalism painted boldly on the walls or designed windows of the store, adding to the store’s disarray. Instead, it’s perfectly clean, beside from the stray, faded black streaks along the bottom of the walls that have no telling of where they originated from.

“It appears so,” Connor affirms as he treks towards the front door, the flickering neon sign that’s illuminating the words “Open” seeming to welcome him. Hank follows Connor with the crunching of shoes against packing snow sounding each time he takes a heavy step to catch up with the speedy android.

Now side by side, Connor pulls open the front door and an overhead bell rings out as if celebrating their arrival that’s thankfully on time. They timidly inch inside, Connor leading the way, and a rush of heat in contrast with the outside chill welcomes them and urges them to step fully inside and stamp the snow off their shoes on the black placemat. As Hank greets the old woman who Connor can only presume is named Kathy, the android’s always-curious eyes peer around at the pleasing environment. As he surveys in all directions, the strong smell of freshly-brewed coffee wafts through the warm air, and the sweet accent of recently baked pastries swirls with the coffee scent in a perfect unison. The walls are coated in light brown paint, and the same logo that is decorating the windows is dawned upon the back wall. The white main counter sits below the logo and beside it, there is a back door labelled “Storage” and another back door labelled “Office”. There’s a few cameras scattered around the upper corners, but they are minuscule and blend perfectly into their surroundings. Just like how the saying goes that you can never judge a book by its cover, this warm and inviting atmosphere greatly counterbalances the exterior appearance.

Despite this, what Connor found strange to be missing from the outside walls is ruining the interior design. Painted with blue spray paint with Cyberlife Sans as it’s bold font is yet another slogan.

**WE DEMAND OUR FREEDO**

The word “Freedom” abruptly trails off with a blue streak of paint from the bottom the letter “O” to the floor beside a can of blue spray paint. It’s cap is popped off the can, but it’s rolling around on the wooden, polished floor only a few inches from it.

“Seems pretty strange that it trails off, huh?”

The voice startles both Connor and Hank who were staring at the vandalism, oblivious to their surroundings. They jump slightly at the voice and turn around to find Chris standing there with a suspicious eyes and arched eyebrows.

“Yeah, it is. I wonder why he didn’t finish it,” Hank answers as he jams his hands into his coat pockets and rocks back and forth slightly on his heels. As if a lightbulb went off in his mind, he quickly faces Connor with a hope written on his face. “Think you could track the fingerprints on the can?”

Connor shakes his head to dismiss the idea. “Androids don’t leave fingerprints.”

“Ah, right. I forgot.” The fleeting bit of hope dashes away from Hank’s features, leaving only thoughtfulness as his expression. His eyebrows furrow together and lips form a deep frown while he dwells on possible solutions, the gears whirring in his mind seeming almost hearable by Connor.

Chris jabs a thumb towards the direction of the back door labeled “Office” and pipes up, “We were actually about to check the surveillance. Maybe that’ll teach us something?”

Both Hank and Connor shrug in compliance and follow Chris as he walks towards the one back door, a few police officers and Kathy leading the way already halfway through the door. Once everyone is inside, Connor, who was taking up the rear, shuts the door with a click.

The office is a snug room with white walls that are mostly barren, besides a few framed award certificates that are placed upon the wall behind the quaint wooden desk. On the desk, there’s a few small stacks of paper, a black cup full of various pencils and pens, a small personalized laptop in the center, and a bulkier desktop off to the side. The very last item in the room is a large, tan cushioned chair on wheels that dwells behind the desk. It’s grand size seems as if it would swallow stout Kathy whole if she were to sit upon it.

Connor joins the group already huddled around the larger desktop, anxiousness buzzing between them. Kathy plops into the chair behind the desk, rolls over to the desktop, and clicks the power on button from a remote that lay beside it. Once on, three individual boxed screens for each surveillance camera in the café are shown upon the screen. The time and date are written in small words on the upper left of each screen.

The entire group eagerly awaits to witness something pop up on screen as Kathy rewinds with the click of a button on the remote. Kathy informs everyone as she rewinds, “This surveillance runs 24/7, so it should be able to catch anything that happened before I got here this morning at 5:30.”

“The accused android does have a habit of hacking the cameras, though,” Hank pipes up in a hopeless tone. “We might not find anything.”

He’s unfortunately correct - out of all of the stores that the android has vandalized, many of them had surveillance. Unfortunately, all of them were hacked within mere seconds of the android breaking in. It was certainly a shame, for surveillance is usually very helpful in catching crimes.

“Well, it’s worth a shot,” Chris interjects with a small shrug.

The entire group goes silent at Chris’ remark, knowing full well that this surveillance is the best chance that they’ve got. Everyone’s eyes are glued intently on the screen that’s slightly blurry with static as Kathy continues to rewind.

After a few moments of rewinding that feel like hours of waiting, a masked figure appears in one of the cameras outside the café windows, its dark figure seen faintly through the static. Kathy abruptly stops rewinding at the promising sight and clicks on the camera, opening it to full screen and allowing everything to get a better view. Silence and tension cover the group in a blanket of heavy air, and every single pair of eyes there, human or android, carefully watch each movement that the hidden figure makes.

First, the figure walk towards the front door and disappears behind it. Then, after a few quick seconds, the door is gently cracked opened. An object that Connor can only guess is the object used to pick the lock is tightly gripped in the figure’s hands, and in the other is the infamous can of blue spray paint. He shoves the unknown object into his back pocket next to what appears to be a gun, and he shakes the can, preparing it for use. Finally, the masked figure takes one look at surveillance camera and twitches their head to the side in one jerky movement. A bit of light flashes from the side of their temple where an LED would lay, illuminating through the mask. At the previous movement, the camera fades into static before suddenly cutting out into a dark screen.

Everyone sighs in disappointment and backs away from the screen. Their fading hope is snatched away from them yet again, leaving them in the dark and still no closer to finding the identity of the android.

Hank is the first to break the growing silence. “Well, looks like it’s a dead end, huh?”

“It seems to be that way,” one of the police officers adds, her voice monotone and lack of the bubbly spring of life.

Connor, however, isn’t distraught over the loss and grumbling along with everyone else. Instead, he still has his inquisitive brown eyes fixated on the black screen - more specifically, the time and date stamp plastered on the upper left. His mind whirs as it puts two and two together, possibly finding the solution to the puzzle that seemed impossible to solve.

“It says here that this happened at 5:29 this morning,” Connor finally pipes up as he turns to face the group. “And you said that you arrived here at 5:30, correct?”

“C-Correct,” Kathy stutters, shocked at the quiet android’s sudden burst of enthusiasm.

“Well, wouldn’t you have seen the android, then? Wouldn’t he still be in the store at 5:30?”

A wave of silence sweeps over everyone as the information settles in their minds. Glances from each person are exchanged for a few moments, everyone clueless on how to react.

“But what if he left? Like, through the front door or some other exit?” Hank is the first one to break the silence, yet again.

Kathy quickly shakes her head. “The only door out is the front door, and I come in that way. I would’ve seen him leave, I’m sure.”

“Should we look around a bit, then?” one of the police officers suggests, his eyes bouncing around to meet everyone’s as if trying to figure out whether they are on board with the suggestion or not.

Everyone appears to be with a nod of silent agreement, and as if frozen ice was shattered, the room bursts into movement. They eagerly hustle towards the door of the office, Kathy leading the way and fidgeting with the door handle.

The main part of the café is poured into by Kathy, multiple police officers, Connor, and Hank once she opens the officer door. Excitement buzzing in the air, each person walks in every direction as to not miss anything, going from the single bathroom to the empty trash can in search for any sign of the runaway android.

Suddenly, Connor freezes in his tracks as if stuck in mud. There’s something caught in the corner of his keen eyes, grabbing his attention and calling for him to investigate. It’s the third door in the café labeled “Storage” that he saw when he first came in. It’s still tightly shut and unchecked by the miniature search party.

_A perfect hiding spot,_ he realizes.

Curiously propelling him, he takes quick steps towards the door. Everyone still bustles to and fro around him, unbeknownst to what he’s up to and instead focused on their own searching. Apprehension creeps up on him, but Connor pushes the bothersome emotion away and goes to wrap his hand around the door knob. Without wasting another second to delay the inevitable, he twists and pulls.

A whirl of black overwhelmes Connor’s vision as he is struck with a forceful kick to his gut. A grunt escapes from his lips at the blunt impact, and he shuts his eyes instinctively while he sails towards the hard, wooden ground.

Loud, urging shouts ring in Connor’s ears as he opens his eyes with urgency. His vision is slightly blurry at first, but it clears back into his usual pristine, crystal clear sight within seconds. A rush of relief comes upon him to see that no warnings have popped up into his vision, informing him that no damage has been done to his vitals from the kick.

With the shouts still droning on in the background, Connor pushes himself off the ground and bounces back into a ready-to-react standing position as if springs were implanted in the soles of his shoes. His eyes bounce around the buzzing café like zipping bullets before they finally locate the android. His body is a blur of black as he shoves over a few police officers in his way and crashes out of the front door.

Without any moment's hesitation, Connor jumps into the action. Through the path, now clear of people due to the android pushing them out of the way, he zips out of the café without any stumbling and crashes through the front door. His head frantically bobbles left to right down the blocks before he finds the android bolting down the sidewalk to the left. And with a clear path finally open for him, Conor takes a sharp turn to the left and pursues him.

He races down the sidewalks at superhuman speeds, his legs pounding against the concrete with each powerful lunge that surges him forward. He doesn’t even have to think, doesn’t even have to process what he’s doing, for every fiber in his being is already programmed and prepared to perform this chase with utter excellence. Energy that replicates human adrenaline pumps through his body in flow with his circulation of thirium as he comes closer and closer to the android and the chances of catching him heighten. Of course, every single time Connor seems to be able to reach out and grab hold of him, he darts forward a few extra steps and becomes out of reach, pursuing the race.

As the chase passes by crosswalk after crosswalk, drivers halt quick to a stop and slam on their horns in a fury. Traffic steadily builds up on the roads, echoes of beeps ringing out from the cars. And as they race across the sidewalks, people walking nonchalantly around the city with shopping bags and cell phones in hand are hastily shoved to the side without prompt or asking to be excused. Connor cannot wait even a second for the approval to pass through any of these things, for every moment not running is a few potential yards that the android could gain on him and lead to disappearing out of Connor’s sight.

The police force, himself included, all worked so hard and so long to find him - he _can’t_ fail now, especially not when he’s so close.

He has to catch him.

The length of the run drags on with no end in sight. As the minutes creep by, Connor is beyond grateful that he was built to be able to run for very long periods without tiring or needing a break. Unfortunately for him, the android is also equipped with the ability to run for such long, tiresome times.

Just when everything seems grim for Connor, an immense sea of androids and humans are seen in the sidewalks before them. It’s the first real crowd Connor has seen in a while since the android revolution, and it’s vastness seems to stem from the opening of a new mall that stands sky-high and is covered in crystal-clear windows. A banner drapes across the width of a each side of the mall, the words “Grand Opening” written in bold to catch anyone’s eye.

Noticing the wall of people. the android hastily takes a sharp left turn into an dark, slender alley. After a few moments of darting down the alley and avoiding the large, dark green garbage cans that little the pathway, a giant wall that encloses the alley becomes apparent. This sight that brings force encouragement pushes Connor to soar forward even faster, his body right on the android’s tail.

The android comes to a sudden halt once he reaches the very end of the alley and whips around. His black mask that shielded his features has flown off during the chase, and as he now faces Connor with eyes wide in fear, the detective android is able to get a good look at his features and analyze him.

**HK-Series HK400 - Housekeeper**

**Manufacture date: 5/29/30**

**Property of: Unknown**

He is the exact match of the footprints found in the snow the first day of the investigation, and this realization causes Connor to swell with pride and accomplishment.

He caught him.

“Please,” the android begs as his body visibly trembles. He backs away inch by inch towards the wall with arms slightly outstretched as if trying to keep Connor at bay. “I-I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You vandalized 16 stores,” Connor answers calmly as he stands there without movement. The speech flawlessly flows from his mouth as he repeats the words he’s been informed to say in this situation, the instructions packed tightly away in his computerized brain to never be lost. “That’s against the law. You’ll be taken to the station, where you’ll be investigated to find more information on this regular occurrence of yours.”

“But, a-all I’m doing is sending a message,” he tries to explain himself with a voice that shakes, betraying his pure fright that he tries to vainly steady. As his eyes dance around to avoid making contact with Connor’s stern, unmoving glare, his LED bounces between a bright yellow and red as if it cannot decide which color to finally settle on. To Connor’s surprise, the fearful android’s wandering gaze lands upon Connor’s own LED, and he pauses abruptly in his tracks in a strange fascination.

“Wait, you’re an android, too?” His eyes survey Connor as the move up and down slowly, taking in the absurd sight before him. The jacket, the shirt, the jeans - they all appear so _humalike_ as the clothe him, with no hint of Cyberlife left in even the smallest trace in these clothes. Besides that, the only thing that screams “I’m an android” is the bright blue LED on his temple that has now warranted the fugitive android’s attention. Confusion is written on his face as this discovery dawns on him, and a strange passion begins to burn within him like a growing, feeding fire. “Then...then don’t you agree with what I’m writing? I mean, the revolution ended and the humans _promised_ us freedom. But, nothing even happened. We’re still looked at as _slaves_. I’m just trying to fight for us and get what we deserve. So, why are you doing this? Just, just let me go, p-please.”

Connor is unresponsive, exactly how he was trained to act. He was taught that words from the criminals would try to persuade, beg, and convince those who caught them. He knows much better than to give in to the other android’s plea, so he remains completely silent and allows him to continue his meaningless beg.

In turn, the only thing Connor does is stare at him, his always-intrigued eyes perceiving the expression on the fugitive android’s face. The widened eyes, flickering LED that relentlessly switches between colors that betray instability, eyebrows creased together in apprehension. All of these sights plastered on the face of the android before Connor show complete fear, panic, and worry - emotions that Connor has seen again and again in deviants the very moment that they were caught by him and Hank in the past.

Back when he was a machine.

Following orders without protest.

Wanting to get them killed and not feeling any regret for that being his goal.

_Level of Stress_  
**^82%** **  
** Probability of Self Destruction: High

A sudden strong wave of nausea overwhelmes Connor as these awful memories grab a tight hold of his frail mind. He quickly shakes his head to try and clear them away, push them aside, _forget_ about them like he so longs to do; regardless, they stand rigid and stay fixated in his mind, causing guilt to creep unpleasantly around his insides and make them churn.

Before Connor can react, a terrible presence is felt looming over his shuddering shoulders. He dares not turn around to face it, for a deep sense of fear keeps his head facing forward like a stone statue that’s completely frozen in position. However, that doesn’t stop the voice from hissing into Connor’s ears and sending shivers down his back.

“He’s a deviant, Connor,” Amanda urges maliciously, her words almost unheard by him due to the loud pounding of his thirium pump regulator making her words muffled. “Accomplish your mission, and _destroy him_.”

Connor clenches his fists by his side tightly, his knuckles whitening and matching that of the fresh snow he’s standing upon. His once blue-and-balanced LED flashes blood red, cycling in sync with the android’s before him. Though, all remembrance of the runaway android that Connor has finally achieved within his grasp is forgotten as his mind swirls with new pressing situations. He forcefully shuts his eyes, willing all of Amanda’s awful wishes away and trying to contain himself. Keep himself calm. Push her away.

_She’s not real._

_She’s not real._

_She’s not real._

He repeats these words again and again and again like a scratched record stuck on repeat, trying to allow the words to finally seep into him and plummet his accumulating fear. Yet, the more he repeats the words and the more they drone on in his frazzled mind, the less strength they have and the more powerful Amanda’s dark presence over his shoulder becomes.

_She’s not real._

_She’s not real._

Out of the blue, as the pressure and terror continues bearing down against him without any relenting, something snaps within the weakening android. Something that held his mind intact and focused on who he truly has become when he tore down that red barrier that obstructed his way before Markus. And like a ferocious lion set loose from his strong reins that withheld him, he simply can’t fight the demons within him any longer and blindly finds himself doing everything that he desired so much to forget about doing in the forbidden past.

He can’t _control it anymore._

He lunges towards the android, sending the two of them rolling on top of the snow-covered ground. Connor steadies them and stops the rolling, his own self ending up on top of the other android and him with his back against the snow and his body facing upwards. Connor’s plastic knees are placed rigidly on the packed snow on each side of the android for stability, and he uses his one arm to press hard upon the android’s wriggling neck and the other arm to leave him immobile.

However, the fugitive android’s one arm that was left unrestrained leaves him able to reach for his back pocket and fumble around, grasping chucks of snow that melt between his fingers as he digs blindly around his back pocket. Connor’s sharp mind quickly takes note of what is happening, but before he can even react and stop him, he pulls out the handheld gun from his back pocket that Connor saw on the surveillance earlier and shakily presses it against the detective android’s chest.

A gunshot rings out with a loud bang that echoes off the closed walls of the alley. Connor’s muscles suddenly go limp as he totters to the side and plops onto the scuffed-up snow, eyes closing reflexively from the sharp impact.

Connor gradually opens his eyes as he grunts, a dull thumping in his chest. It isn’t exactly _pain_ , per se, but it’s an aching, repeating stab that overwhelms his senses and leaves him twitching helplessly in the snow. The dull ache spreads at rapid speeds throughout his chest, spreading along with a strange warmth that seems to drip off of him.

However, even though his eyes are now open and able to move around, his vision is completely useless, for it has gone blurry and glitches in every direction he tries to look in. All he sees are blurs of black standing up slowly, white surrounding him, and dark blue littering the whiteness. Their shapes blur together into an unfocusable mess despite how much he tries to orient himself with urgency. Flashing red warnings cloud his line of sight, and he tries to focus on them; unfortunately, they glitch in and out and he cannot  get an accurate reading on what they warn him.

The thunderous blaring of sirens roars out in the faraway distance and accumulate in volume as the long moments pass by. Suddenly, various shouts ring out after the slamming of car doors. The shouting grows more noisy within seconds, and instantly, dark blue figures appear before Connor’s dizzying sight. They surround the black figure and grab a strong hold on him. However, before Connor can witness what happens next, his body feels as light as a cloud while he’s lifted off the snow and carried through the air, disoriented images flashing before him in a whirling blur.

His body promptly thuds against the familiar wet, snowy ground, and the cool touch of metal is felt on his aching back. A desperate voice is yelling in his left ear, but it sounds distant and as if it were called from underwater. Trying to overcome that, Connor listens intently and attempts to focus on the yells through the obnoxious static grinding in his ears. Finally, the voice clears into a semi-hearable string of words.

“Connor! Connor, can you hear me?”

Connor hazily turns left to face the owner of the voice. There, an older man with grey hair can be distinguished from the glitching sight. The android blinks rapidly to clear his vision, and it gradually does, allowing the sight of Hank to form into a clearer state and helping Connor focus on it.

“Y-yeah,” Connor mumbles, his words sounding detached from his own body and as distant as Hank’s previous yells. “I’m okay.”

Hank’s horrified expression speaks otherwise. His frantic eyes stare at Connor’s chest as he cries out, “Aw, shit, what happened? Connor, what happened?”

Connor hazily follows Hank’s line of sight toward his chest. His own eyes widen in complete shock when all he can see is a spreading mess of thirium flowing in all directions across his upper body, staining his new clothes. It gushes out like a rushing waterfall from a darkened bullet hole right where his thirium pump regulator is located.

“I got...I-I got,” is all Connor can manage to sputter out, chunks of thirium spitting out with his words. They further stain his clothes and also the perfectly white snow before him.

Hysteria consumes his mind as the red warnings flash rapidly, the thirium continues to drain from his systems, and he struggles to keep his body upright. He’s gonna die right here, he’s sure. He’s gonna die without spending another day at the police station doing what he loves, without spending time with his friends, without telling Hank what was happening with him lately and finally spilling his heart out with all of the things that needed to be said.

_Hank._

The fleeting remembrance of his partner and how he’s _still_ in the dark with everything going on passes through his incoherent trains of thought. Hank _deserves_ to know after everything that’s happened, and Connor’s heart jumps as he realizes how much he cared. How much sympathy he had. How much compassion he had. Connor _knows_ that he can’t just throw it all away when his last moments are ticking by, each second shorter than the last. This remembrance consumes all other worrying ideas, pushing them away, and it dawns on him on what he has to do. He knows that he’s gonna die, right now, but he just can’t leave his partner without an explanation for everything.

_I have to tell him._

Connor brings his heavy back up and to the left to lock eyes with his friend that glitches in his vision. The warning alarm in his ears grows louder, and fuzziness accumulates in the corners of his vision. Despite it all, he focuses his eyes on his partner’s and opens his mouth without another moment to lose that will pull him into the darkness.

“Hank, I…” Connor begins, his voice shaky and giving out. He feels himself leaning sideways, feels his eyelids closing without prompt. Trying to overcome them, he uses every last bit of strength to keep himself focused. _I have to tell him_. “I…”

Hank’s eyes suddenly grow wide enough that the whites all around his light blue center are seen, and sheer panic crosses over his features. He hurriedly reaches out to grab a hold of Connor, crying out in an increasingly loud tone, “Wait, Connor, stay with me, stay with me. Oh, fuck-“

Connor is blissfully unaware of what happens next, for his vision and hearing fizzles out and everything is consumed into a dark, peaceful silence.


	14. Stained

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the week delay for this chapter! Writer’s block hit hard, and I just had no inspiration or willpower to write much. To be honest, because I wasn’t really that “into it” while writing, I’m not really a fan of how this chapter all turned out. But, at least it’s done and I can move the story along. I hope you all enjoy, regardless :)

Various sounds echo around Connor as his wakening mind begins to pull out him of a sleep-like state. However, the origins of the sounds are left unseen as all that lays before his sight is a blanket of darkness like the midnight sky, rendering him incapable to see. Instead, all they do to Connor is jumble together into incoherent waves that reach his ears but can hardly seem to penetrate through and reach the inner depths of his cognitive mind, resulting in them making no sense to him. Swirling around him as if they are spoken deep underwater, each one sounds muffled and distorted beyond comprehension. Time passes by gradually, and the sounds continue to bounce around him. However, after a few more moments, the sounds slowly become more precise and morph into tangible words, almost as if they have swam to reach the surface of the water and are now bobbling above the waves and speaking into the crisp air.

“...Okay, he should power on now.”

Connor’s eyelids carefully flicker open at the voice, revealing milk chocolate orbs beneath them that sparkle with a never-ending curiosity. Bright, harsh-white lights obscure his vision, and two blurry figures hover around within the lights. They dance before his hazy sight like glowing Christmas lights strung up on evergreen trees in the faraway distance. To rid the confusing sight, he blinks multiple times. After a few seconds, the figures that stand before him quickly sharpen, and his sight forms into his usual pristine vision that’s impeccable and designed with perfection by the hands of Cyberlife. His awakening senses finally gather that the room he’s laid down in is one of the spare rooms at the police station, his body atop one of the metal tables.

Without any searching around the bright room, he immediately finds a pair of eyes that are as vibrant of a blue as the sky on a clear, summer day. They gaze down at Connor with concern and worry swirling deep within them, a tornado of fearful emotions trapped within the small spheres and hiding so much built-up pain. The eyebrows above are furrowed together, causing the eyes below to crinkle and crease lines to form. Silver hair frames the stocky face, flowing forward slightly as he leans before the laying android.

A great sense of relief comes upon Connor in a rushing wave at the familiar sight. His heavy heart now becomes as light as a wispy cloud as it soars with happiness, and slender lines of promising cyan break through his LED that spins a deep crimson. His warm eyes glimmer as a small, kind smile grows tentatively on his face, shining like a ray of sunshine that peaks through the windows of a darkened room, rare to be seen.

“Hank,” he whispers with a certain gentleness, the soft words hardly audible as they pass through his lips.

Hank’s eyes brighten almost instantly at the single word, the concern and worry vanishing as if a vacuum had sucked them away. The negative fears that were erased are instead now replaced with utter gratitude and relief. A rare smile of his own appears, spreading across his face and mimicking that of Connor’s, and his once-rigid features soften as they relax. And without opening his mouth to say even one word, he suddenly reaches out his arms and pulls the android upwards into a tight hug.

A hard lump grows in Connor’s throat as Hank’s arms wrap around him in a snug embrace, each arm tight as if at any given moment the android could slip through his grasp and fall away again. The android’s head lays gently against Hank’s chest with the rest of his body held close enough for the warmth of Hank’s body to radiate off of him and seep into Connor’s cool, synthetic skin. With his one ear pressed against his partner’s chest, he listens intently as the regular thud of each heart beat thumps softly in his ears, calming the frantic android as he focuses all of his attention on it like he so loves to do.

A few hot tears spring into Connor’s eyes as he listens, making his vision swim. He didn’t believe that he was going to live. Didn’t believe that he was going to see Hank ever again. But here he is, held safely in his friend’s protective arms, with the entire world shut out and the comfort of each other’s presence seeming to be the only thing left that surrounds them.

He’s safe.

He’s okay.

He’s _alive._

Without any hesitation or second thought, the android brings his own arms up and grips onto his partner in a death grip, a small whimper escaping from his mouth as he does so. His trembling fingers dig into the old, thick jacket that Hank favors and his arms press snugly against his body.

All of a sudden, a few of those stubborn tears leak out of his pooling, mournful eyes. They make long, warm trails of wetness down his face that is squished against Hank, coming forth out of his eyes like rivers despite how much he desires for them to regress. He quickly wipes them against his partner’s coat, concealing the unwanted tears and leaving behind pudgy stains on his rosy cheeks to betray him.

“You really scared me, Con,” a quiet voice whispers above Connor’s head. It shakes like an earthquake, each vowel and syllable seeming as if they will crumble apart and give way. “I thought...I thought you…”

The android swallows so that he can respond, desperately trying to get rid of the obnoxious lump that obstructs his throat. He fails, of course, so the words that he attempts to utter out are weak and cracking. “I’m sorry.”

A few more tears cascade down his face, trailing down in sync with the sudden hitching of his shoulders that he struggles to calm and is futile in trying to do so. Ashamed, he quickly resorts to burying his entire face into Hank’s warm jacket, drying all runaway tears once they escape and hiding himself from his surroundings.

He doesn’t want to leave the warm embrace. Maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll just stay like this forever, safe from the horrible world that grasps onto him from every angle with it’s long, harsh fingers, refusing to release him and finally give him a _break._  Maybe he’ll never let go.

He doesn’t want to let go.

His wish is sadly left ungranted when Hank slowly pulls away, hands still held tightly onto Connor’s shuddering arms and melancholy eyes still locked together in an unbreakable stare.

“What happened?” Hank inquires, words full of question and urgency. His stare breaks away and darts downwards at Connor’s chest as he speaks. Curious at what has suddenly captured Hank’s interest, the android’s brown eyes instinctively follow it. The horrifying mess that sits there to meet his gaze is his new, crisp shirt; however, instead of it being off-white as it originally was, it’s coated in the deep blue pigment of thirium. The sickening blue blood spreads across the entire front with a few random splatters accompanying it around the soaked area. His leather jacket sits in a heap beside him on the table he sits on, a few splotches of thirium staining it as well.

Connor’s jaw drops slightly at the appalling, disheveled sight. And as if someone had flipped a switch hidden somewhere in his computerized mind, the memories originating from the incident flood him like a dam broken through by rushing waters - unwanted and undesired.

Chasing the android accused with vandalism.

Finally catching him after long moments of being just within his grasp.

Suddenly springing upon him without warning, all with the wicked intent to place a deadly bullet through his innocent head.

A sickening knot forms in Connor’s stomach as he dwells on the memory. His still red LED flashes sporadically as each horrid realization slaps him in the face and leaves awful red marks behind, guilt now pounding on his skull and giving him a hammering headache.

He wanted to _kill_ the android.

He wanted him _dead._

Just like the machine he used to be.

Connor stares blankly at Hank as he tries to withhold the expression of shame and horror that begins to warp into his features. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say. Regret twists that knot in his stomach as it dawns upon him that his poor clueless friend is still left on the dark about what had happened, that question of his about what happened still hanging in the air. He opens his mouth to say something, break the thick silence, actually answer Hank’s question honestly. But, no words come forth. The only sound echoing in the compact room is silence.

_How can I tell Hank?_

_I can’t._

The accumulating burden of secrets withheld from his partner grows on Conner’s back as he stays quiet, stuffing all confessions back inside and withholding them that beg to be said from tumbling forth out of his mouth. The hulking weight of the burden drains him and shifts uncomfortably, making him swim in the deep trench of shame; despite that, he _knows_ that he can’t tell Hank.

_How would Hank react?_

_To know that I acted the same way as I did before?_

_Like a machine._

The unknown answer to that awful question is unthinkable to Connor, leaving him biting his tongue and holding back the truth. That hefty, bothersome burden presses heavily upon his shoulders as if to persuade him to finally speak out and do the right thing. Deep down, he knows what he should really do. He should be honest. He should just _tell Hank_. It’s that simple. Regardless, his resolves to trying his hardest to ignore the pesky inner voice that preaches against him.

“He just attacked me,” Connor begins his fantastical lie to Hank, each untruthful word making his stomach wrench with the familiar emotion of guilt that never seems to leave him. Trying to push it aside, he keeps his voice as steady as possible to portray honesty, and a rush of thankfulness comes upon him that his LED still spins red due to the wound and will not reveal his deepening spiel of lies. “It came out of nowhere. I had him cornered and was ready to handcuff him, but then he just pulled out his gun and shot me. I think that he was scared I caught him, I guess. Maybe he was trying to escape since I had him cornered and thought that was the only way.”

Hank nods slightly as he listens, taking in the false tale with every single word. Relief sweeps over Connor at his partner’s absence of usual suspicion that he commonly has; now, the common doubt now is instead replaced with belief.

“Shit,” is all he responds with after Connor has finished speaking. The words slowly sink in as he takes them in, eyes casually darting over to the bullet wound and face growing more pale with each stolen glance. Connor watches quizzically as he does this again and again, taking notice of how something seems to really be troubling the police lieutenant more than he’s letting on. What it is, Connor cannot seem to figure out, his computerized mind that is programmed to find answers within seconds still bringing forth no plausible explanations.

“You’re very lucky that you didn’t shut down.”

The sudden female voice abruptly grabs Hank’s and Connor’s attention, both of them jumping slightly as they whip their heads over in the direction of the voice. It’s a PM700 model, specifically designed for the police force and dressed according to such. However, instead of wearing casual police attire, she still wears her Cyberlife outfit, with the android markers still plastered on the outfit like obnoxious traffic signs. She matches that of the blurry figure in Connor’s vision from before, gone completely undetected by him for the past few minutes and only being reminded of her presence now.

“The bullet hit you right by your thirium pump regulator at a crucial point. It drained your thirium exceptionally fast,” she explains. “If it wasn’t patched up any quicker, you probably would’ve shut down.”

The words stun Connor and Hank, both of their eyebrows raising and jaws dropping slightly in a synchronized shock. A brush with death sure wasn’t expected today, especially since the police force wasn’t even expecting to actually _catch_ the android in the first place. And to hear that he could’ve _died_ \- he cannot believe it, the impact of the words still slowly sinking in as his mind processes the oddly calm words of the android before him.

But at the same time, he isn’t sure how lucky he really is.

The sudden morbid thought stuns Connor, and his eyes widen in horror at himself. Every plastic muscle, ever plastic fiber, every bit of being inside himself tenses up and freezes, constricting together. He shakes his head to remove the thought, trying to quickly erase it before it plants a prickly weed in his mind and begins to sprout into a full fledged mess. But, the idea grows, grabbing full hold of his fragile mind and filling him with lies. Lies, lies, lies. Lies that he can’t escape, lies that he won’t leave him alone, lies that sound so _true._

 _I should be dead_ , his mind persuades him.

_I’m a threat to Hank._

_I’ll kill him._

_ Level of Stress _ _   
_ **^76%** **  
** __ Probability of Self Destruction: Moderate to High

His own words are sickening even to himself, and they become the final harsh twist to that gnawing knot in his stomach. His body becomes numb, his throat becomes dry, all focus leaving him as his mind swirls into an empty black hole. Taking the opportunity of weakness, the words continue to attack him, using all of their power on the android’s broken mind to deceive him.

_I can’t be here._

_I can’t live._

_One ju-_

_No._ A sudden surge of willpower finally stirs through Connor, jolting his racing thoughts to a halt. His mind is weak, his mind is breaking, but he _has_ to mend it back. He has to gain control. He can’t listen to those stupid lies, those stupid lies that fight for control. And with a desperation to erase the thoughts, remove them, rid them, change them, he begins to fight against them. Try, at least. Try to feed his mind with the positivity it lacks, try to counterattack those horrid ideas. He can’t think that way - not anymore. He can’t. He has to be strong. He _has_ to be.

 _That’s not true,_ he thinks, positive words echoing in his mind like a mantra. Of course, they only pathetically scare away the darker ideas and leave them rooted firmly in his mind, remaining and standing tall with their fearful stature. The positive words he inwardly says are feeble and almost useless, but he tries. He tries so hard, LED flashing red as the black hole in his mind still tries to suck him in with its deceiving lies.

_I’m alive._

_I’m with Hank._

_We’re okay._

_I’m okay._

_And that’s a good thing._

_That’s a good thing._

Determination surging through his plastic veins, he continues desperately to persuade himself with these words of encouragement. Again and again, attack after attack, _trying_ to beat these terrible ideas that drown him. But, they don’t go away, they keep plunging him under the water, not allowing him even a second to gulp a bit of air. His mind swims, his body sways, his LED continues to flash with a sudden intensity. Panic and fear rises upon him, crawling on him like millions of small insects and making himself feel trapped, held captive, wild and needing to break free-

“Connor!”

He’s thrown out of his mess of thoughts and jumps back to reality at a jarring call of his name. His blue blood freezes in spot and his head snaps forward, allowing his eyes to focus on his surroundings. Hank stands before him, loudly snapping his fingers in front of Connor’s shocked face. The PM700 stands awkwardly beside the police lieutenant, and both of their eyes burn holes into Connor with worry as he sits there, shaken and feeling so very small.

Hank finally speaks once he notices that he’s grabbed Connor’s attention. His voice is laced in that stupid worry that never seems to leave him and always is so prominent nowadays. “You alright? You just...zoned out.”

The android glances back and forth between the PM700 and Hank, eyes wild and widened. His shifts his weight side to side on his seat at the table as his mind frantically searches for the correct way to answer. Finally half-heartedly determined on what to say, his words shudder as he replies, “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

The two in front of him continue to study Connor with judgemental eyes in silence. Thankfully, Hank breaks the awkward moment of quietness and speaks up, diverting the unwanted attention away from Connor.

“Well, I guess we’re lucky we arrived when he did,” Hank says. “Any later, and you could’ve…”

“Yeah,” is all Connor awkwardly answers, not wishing for him to finish the hopeless sentence. He already knows what he was going to end with.

The police android looks upon Connor’s chest where the bullet was placed, eyes studying intently a certain point. She gazes past the bloody site of royal blue and instead only stares at the initial wound, revealing itself only through the unbuttoned buttons by his collar.

Connor follows her line of sight and looks closer at where she’s precicly staring. There, he sees on his chest a small, ragged pink scar in the shape of a stretched circle, it’s edges closed together messily with what he can only presumed was a burning stake to mend the deep wound. Scuffs of white porcelain shine through here and there around the scar, and a few dots of thirium are spotted around. Other than that, the wound is nicely closed as best it could be in Connor’s eyes. No warnings are appearing in his sight to tell him otherwise, after all. He’s pleasantly surprised.

The two androids lock eyes before she goes on, “I tried to heal it as best as I could and stop the flow of thirium. I could only do with what I’ve been programmed to do in these types of situations - hopefully that’ll suffice.”

“No, it’s great. Thank you,” Connor replies with an honest sincerity in his tone. He truly _is_ grateful. It isn’t like he’s a part of her protocol. She didn’t have to help him out in his time of need. But, she did regardless. And he’s more than thankful for her act of generosity.

Breaking the stillness in the air, she suddenly reaches backward to grab something from her back pocket. Pulling it out, a small package of the royal blue liquid recognized immediately as thirium is revealed.

“Here,” she says, placing the package in Connor’s hand. He gives her a look of question, prompting her to continue. “You should drink this. You lost a lot of thirium, so you’ll have to replenish it.”

Connor squeezes the package in his hand gently, watching the liquid squish under the pressure of his thumb and spread around to fill each empty corner. “Oh, uh, okay.”

With that said, he hesitantly brings the thirium up towards his lips and squeezes harder. The liquid flows out, tasting exactly like how he remembered it when he was investigating androids and sampling their blood - metallic and cold. It’s strange to him to be taking in gulpfuls instead of a small sample like he has grown accustomed to in the past; but, Connor does so, feeling the chilly liquid slowly trail down his throat and begin to distribute through his needing body.

“You should be okay. Though,” She pipes up, brown eyes full of doubt as they continue to stare bullets at his wound, “Maybe you should go to Cyberlife. They could fix you up properly by replacing your skin and damaged parts that I unfortunately am unable to do. That would probably be the best-“

“No!”

Connor’s bark of refusal rings out all of a sudden, the harshness of the words bouncing off the narrow walls in a loud echo. The shout prompts both Hank and the PM700 to jump out of their skin and jolt their heads towards Connor’s in shock and confusion.

“N...no,” He repeats at a much lower volume, cheeks tinting a faint rosy tone as he feels the two pairs of eyes yet again staring at him with an undesired intensity that makes him feel so small and vulnerable. A strange cold liquid is suddenly felt trickling down his one hand, and he glances down to see that his hand has gripped the package so hard that spurts of thirium had flown out of the opening. He begins to fidget with his hands as he meekly tries to wipe it away, and a longing for that always ready-for-use quarter that’s held snug in his pant’s pocket grows. “I don’t...I can’t go to Cyberlife. I-I can’t.”

How could he?

How could he return to the wicked place that held only those were out to capture him?

Those who were out fo return him to the cold way he was before?

Connor brings his puppy-dog eyes up and they lock with Hank’s. Suddenly, the android takes note of a certain understanding that appears to be is hidden deep within those blue jewels. He _gets_ Connor’s refusal. He _sympathizes_. Hank nods slightly, as if affirming the android’s statement and proving his understanding. Gratitude rushes over Connor at these simple but impactful gestures.

The PM700 appears unconvinced as she continues, words doubtful and tentative, “Are you sure? It might be safer that way.”

Connor already has his mind set. He nods, confirming his original plea. “I’m sure. Don’t worry, I’ll be okay. Thank you for everything.”

Her eyes light up at the compliment, and a sweet smile forms on her face. She returns the nod as she replies, “I wish you all the best.”

And with that simple goodbye phrase, the generous android parts with the two partners and swiftly exits the room, the loud sound of her shoes clicking on the tile floor becoming muffled as she passes through the door and shuts it behind her with a click.

A heavy silence wafts through the thick air as Hank and Connor dwell in the almost empty room, completely barren besides for the table the android sits upon and his stained jacket that acts like a souvenir from his “adventures” laying beside him in a crumpled heap.

As the silence grows, his LED cycles a steady yellow while he ponders on how to efficiently break the stillness. Though still unsure of whether it’s the correct thing to say or not, he gingerly opens his mouth to speak.

However, any word that was about to escape his lips is cut off suddenly when Hank is the first one to shatter the quietness.

“You have to be more careful,” he states blatantly, words empty and devoid of emotion. He crosses his arms across his chest before he continues, “You can’t be so...reckless.”

Connor was already expecting this. The concern, the worry, the protectiveness that seems to be in Hank’s very nature - he expected it all. Having already braced himself for the lecture, he simply shrugs and rolls his eyes as nonchalantly sips on his thirium. “I know.”

“No, you don’t!” Hank spits out suddenly, words harsh and pulling Connor off guard. He snaps out of his light trance and almost chokes on the liquid. Stunned, he brings his head up in a swift motion to make eye contact with Hank. And there, as if unlocking something he’s never noticed before, all Connor can see are mourning eyes that have seen the most unimaginable things possible. Eyes that have seen a truck skidding before them on ice, moving so fast without any chance for anyone to react. Eyes that have seen his own son crippled and unconscious in his arms. Eyes that have seen the crimson blood from the wounds that aren’t his own stained on his hands. Eyes that have watched his son take his last breath on his deathbed, his entire world taken from him.

That’s all Connor can see as he gazes silently at his partner, unable to move even an inch. He opens his mouth to say something, anything at all, even a simple word. But, nothing comes forth. He’s stuck staying meekly with an open mouth, having no ability to react.

“You can’t just...you can’t...” Hank continues at a lowered tone, words weak and shaking like a powerful hurricane. He looks so small, so helpless, as he stands there before Connor, all ideas seeming to flee from his mind before he can form them into words. “You don’t have anymore second chances, Connor. This is it. This is all you‘ve got. You can’t just...die, and then have Cyberlife make a plastic copy of you with the same fucking face and personality. This is _it_ . And you can’t...you can’t be so _reckless_. Do you understand?”

Connor breaks the intense eye contact that makes him squirm uncomfortably. Instead, he places his attention instead of his hands that are still smeared with a bluish color and the package still gripped tightly between them. And all he can think as he feels Hank’s eyes still placed intently on him is a horrible thing - he doesn’t _care._ Hat sickening idea, the terrible thought that he’s still fighting to push away - it’s still there, a garden of weeds growing and consuming his mind. He’s a _threat_ to Hank. He’s _dangerous_ . He shouldn’t be trying to watch out for himself and protect himself. He shouldn’t even be here. He could _kill Hank._

_One jump…_

“Do you understand?”

Hank’s repeated question is suddenly raised greatly in volume, penetrating Connor with its intensity. He jumps slightly and whips his head upwards to face his partner yet again. And just like what he wanted to avoid, those stupid, convincing eyes grab a fierce hold of his attention again, causing his face to melt and his steadiness to break. Connor’s lip quivers violently as he speaks up, each word shaking in tune with his lips.

“I-I understand. I’m sorry.”

“You promise you’ll be more careful?”

“...I promise.”

The lie brings forth harsh pangs guilt that seem to stab him in the chest, making him writhe in a fictional pain that he’s incapable to feel. However, they had to be said. He cannot still have Hank on his trail, always hunting him down like a clever lion as he prowls in search for anything that would warrant suspicion. Connor has to stay strong - even if the remorse swallows him whole and leaves him drowning in the awful feeling.

He just has to.

Silence drapes over the two partners, and they remain there uncomfortably or a few moments, eyes averted and staring at everything and nothing at all. Despising the tension that steadily builds up between them with each second gone by without a passing word, Connor finally pipes up.

“I should probably head home to change out of these clothes, huh?”

Hank snaps to focus and looks back and forth between Connor’s bloody chest that’s coated in thick blue blood and matching jacket, still crumpled beside him. After a few seconds of this, he nods slightly in agreement.

“Uh, yeah. I can drive you home, if you’d like,” he offers, still not making eye contact with Connor and instead focusing on a random dark spot on the wall.

Connor shakes his head, although he knows that there’s no use for Hank isn’t even looking in his direction. “No, it’s okay. I can drive myself.”

“No!”

The abrupt shout seems to shock both of them, and they finally lock eyes again as the loud, angry word echoes around them in the stuffy room. Neither of them react, neither of them speak, both of them not knowing how to respond.

Finally, after a few moments drag by, Hank speaks. His tone has dropped in volume greatly as he continues softly, “Uh, no, um, I’ll take you. It’s okay.”

“Alright,” Connor responds after as second of processing, one eyebrow now slowly raising in confusion. Why Hank is so intent on driving him home, he isn’t sure, but he decides to simply let it go. Any remaining bits of steam have left him, and he now isn’t up for anymore pointless quarreling that results in only anger and hate. There’s no use, anyway.

With tired movements, he slowly pulls his body off the table, places his feet on the floor, and begins to wrap his wrinkled jacket speckled with thirium around him. The cool, woven fabric still feels unfamiliar to him as it presses against his synthetic skin, feeling as if it were a stranger that he could never acquaint with no matter how hard he tried.

“You ready?” Hank says as Connor finishes buttoning up his top few buttons of the off-white dress shirt that were left undone, allowing the bullet wound to be visible for PM700 as she repaired it.

Connor is about to answer in confirmation, but instead, he quickly whips around to grab the thirium package off the table. Turning back to face his friend, he answers, “Ready.”

With that, the duo abandon the room with that all-too-common heaviness still built up between them.

**~~~**

The car ride home whirs by, feeling as if it were mere seconds compared to the usual fifteen minutes as they drive from the police department and head through the hustling city of Detroit. In the snap of a finger, they finally reach the sleepy neighborhood of Hank’s and pull into the driveway, where a certain excited bark rings out in an inviting manner.

Connor doesn’t even process what he’s doing as he mindlessly heads through the front door with Hank by his side, greets Sumo affectionately with pets and rubs, pours him a hefty bowl of dry food as Hank fills his water bowl with cool, fresh water, and steers straight into his room. Hank’s voice as he talks to Sumo while pampering him becomes muffled once Connor gently shuts the door behind him with a satisfying click.

Now alone behind shut doors, the android takes a minute to gaze around his room, his head turning slowly as he takes it all in. The room itself isn’t even his - it isn’t a guest room, or an added room, or anything like that. It’s _Cole’s_ , now remodeled to suit Connor’s personality and traits. There’s no brightly-colored toy trucks, no collectable baseball cards stacked in sky-high towers, no train-themed covers to lay over the bed. All of that is now packed tight and secure in large boxes, hoarded away in Hank’s garage in a tight corner for safekeeping. Instead, Connor’s room is the epitome of simplicity - grey walls that are as bare as trees in the winter, a closet painted with darker grey doors, a couple drawers with nothing atop them except for a comb and large, spotless mirror, a large bed with bleach white covers, and the carpeted floors spotless, without any specks of dirt or dust remaining.

Connor vividly remembers the day they remodeled Cole’s - or his, depending on how you look at it - room. He remembers how he questioned Hank’s motives, how he doubted everything, how he just couldn’t understand how all of it was _okay_. Here Connor was, just replacing the last thing left of Hank’s son, and the older man was okay with it? It didn’t make any sense.

However, Hank insisted. He _wanted_ to move on. Of course, it wasn’t like he suddenly wanted to throw everything involving his son away to the curb for the trash to pick up. But, he wanted to try and move on with everything. Connor remembers how stubborn Hank was, rendering any protests from the android as futile with a wave of his hand. And, truth he told, Connor was proud of Hank. This was improvement, indeed. Hard to do, but significant.

And now, as Connor eyes everything with a suspicion stare, he can’t but help but feel just how strange everything is to him. The walls, the closet, the drawers, the bed, the carpet - they are all strangers to him. They aren’t _his_. They belong to someone else, someone who truly deserves this room. Connor doesn’t deserve these things. He doesn’t deserve to be accepted into Hank’s home like that. And as the android finally breaks from his idle stance and moves to put on a new, non-bloody, crisp grey buttoned-up shirt from the drawer and a second jacket in his closet to match, it all feels strange as well. The way it lays atop his synthetic skin, the way it fits on him, the way it makes him appear like any other human - strange, strange, strange.

It’s all so strange.

It’s all so different.

It’s all so _human._

And Connor doesn’t know how to wrap his head around all of it.

LED spinning a vibrant yellow in tune with the gears shifting in his mind, he finally opens the door with a creek and exits the room. His jacket is not yet put on but instead looped over his arm as he buttons up the last few top buttons of the grey shirt.

“Why’re you dressed like that?”

Hank’s sudden voice coming by the front door now half-open startles him, and he stops fidgeting with his top buttons to give him a curious stare with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh, what do you mean?” He asks, looking down at his clothes to inspect them. There’s nothing wrong with them - of course, besides the strangeness that still resonates off of them. But, there’s nothing _visibly_ wrong with it. He then brings his head back up and cocks it to the side slightly.

Hank sighs, and then uses his hand that isn’t grasped around the door handle to wave it up and down Connor in an exaggerated sweep. “I mean, why’re you dressed like you’re going to work?”

“Because I’m going to work?” The android says this slowly, drawing out the words dramatically, as if saying the obvious any faster would make it incomprehensible to Hank.

“No, you’re not,”

“What?” Connor spits out, his voice suddenly risen. “Yes, I am. Why wouldn’t I?”

Hank opens his mouth, but nothing comes out as he tries to form what he’s trying to say into sentences. Finally, words come forth, each one sarcastic as if what he was saying was so completely obvious there shouldn’t even be a debate in the first place. “Uh, because you’re hurt? You were _shot_ , Connor, and you’re just gonna come back to work? No way.”

A flame begins to kindle within Connor at Hank’s words. It’s just a spark, a minuscule flick of fire, but it promises the potential of burning. Fueled by the fire, he wants to suddenly yell back and tell Hank off, tell him how pointless his arguments are, how ridiculous it all is. Despite this, he gives himself a second to calm down and forces the fire away as he remembered the consequences he reaped the last time he lashed out and gave in to his sporadic emotions.

“I’m fine, Hank,” Connor begins in a softer tone. “Really, I’m capable for work. It’s no big deal.”

“It _is_ a big deal,” Hank retorts immediately, Connor’s gentle voice having no effect on his own whatsoever. It’s still venomous as he continues, “You’re not just some...machine that can get damaged or some shit and then-“

“I _am_ a machine!” Connor abruptly yells, his tone loud enough to overcome Hank’s and silence him. All gentleness from the android has been wiped clean in that moment, a new bitterness arriving. That fire in his soul that was a mere spark just a few moments ago has no grown within him and continues to double as the seconds go by. “How do you keep forgetting that? I _am_ one! And I’m _fine_. Just let me go, alright? For once?”

Hank doesn’t back down and slams the door, finally breaking away from its grasp and walking towards Connor. He yells as he jabs a finger in his direction, “No! You’re hurt, Connor - just take a fucking day off for once in your life!”

“I’m not like you or other humans, Hank,” he roars back, not cowering backwards but instead inching forward to stare Hank dead in the eye. “I don’t need breaks, or recovery, or any of that. I’m fixed. So stop treating me like I’m your...kid or something, and let me make my own decisions!”

Hank looks beyond exhausted, looks ready to top over the edge if someone were to give him a short nudge, as if arguing with Connor is draining every last bit of energy left in him. Eyes wide and cold with annoyance, he waves his arm widely as he barks, “You’re not going to work! End of story,”

Connor finally takes a small step backwards, face dropping as he takes Hank’s final blow. All steam left him, he stands there feeling so small, feeling himself caving in on himself, feeling that shame and guilt growing on him like pesky weeds that can never be removed.

“Hank, I-“

But Connor never gets the chance to finish his sentence, for Hank has turned around on his heels and, with the car keys jangling in his hand, has bolted out of the front door and whipped it shut behind him.


	15. Connected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh sorry this update is so late! I’ve been super busy, not to mention that this chapter is over 9000 words - about 2000 to 3000 more than usual. But, it’s finally here! And while I feel like I should revise and edit it a bit more, I just really want to finally update it after working for so long on it lol
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

_Bored._

Connor had never been so bored in his life.

Of course, he had enjoyed moments of relaxation in the past. Perhaps - with Hank usually - it would be reclining on the bench at the bridge that they loved to visit, watching a game of basketball in front of the television after a long day of work, or eating out at a restaurant and simply chatting. But lounging around at home and doing absolutely nothing? Especially when he was supposed to be at the police department and doing work? Connor had never done that before. And he hated it.

Unfortunately, that is what he did all day long - stare absentmindedly at the flashing television. Sumo was snuggled in a ball by his side and as Connor flipped through the various channels telepathically with a simple flick of his head and a sporadic yellow flash of his LED. The channels themselves didn’t even catch his interest. Criminals on the loose after robbing banks, taxes and gas prices rising, unemployment rates growing - these topics on the channels flashed on the screens before Connor, and no emotion came forth to the android from them as he watched.

Boring, boring, boring.

There still wasn’t even any news updates on Markus and his meeting with the president. It was almost if it had never even occurred, or as if maybe the news story before about the beginning of the meeting was all one large hoax that was created in order to stir drama, or maybe Markus telling Connor about the meeting was misheard by him. The detective android couldn’t tell, but at least the whole situation about gaining his true “freedom” didn’t bother him too much. Things were certainly improving with the androids - and while officially they weren’t legal “people” yet, they weren’t illegal or viewed as nothing but a machine with no emotions. Better yet, many people have been returning to Detroit after fleeing on a panic-induced decision during the revolution. Therefore, even without the meeting between Markus and the president revealing any news-breaking footage or a new law regarding androids, at least things were improving in general.

Though, on the bright side, Connor learned during his dull afternoon that he found pleasure in watching the channels about dog athleticism competitions. Those were exciting enough, and they broke the monotonous expression on his face and allowed rare smiles to shine through. Sumo, not surprisingly, seemed to like them as well. At the recurring sight of a dog on the screen, he would suddenly sit up to bark and thump his bushy tail against the worn couch. The innocent sight made Connor smile and even chuckle a bit as well while his heart melted.

Between the long dragging hours of the afternoon, Connor also took these moments of peace and quiet to shut his eyes. He wasn’t trying to enter a sleep state or anything like that - he was picking up his old habit of staring face to face with the Zen Garden door. He wouldn’t enter. He would simply stare at it, his fear wrapping around his body and swallowing any ounce of bravery he may have had left.

He couldn’t do it.

The echoing of a car door slam reaches Connor ears and suddenly yanks him out of a lull inside his mind. His eyes pop open as he hops up from his curled up position on the couch, his fingers digging into the fleece blanket wrapped around him as twinges of panic grasp him. Sumo, who is still curled in a large ball beside him, perks his ears up at the faint sound of the car door. He leaps off the couch at once, abandoning the startled android and darting towards the front door as fast as his pudgy, old legs can carry him.

Fear swirls through Connor’s mind as the raspy growl of the rusty engine quiets, heaving footsteps become louder, and keys jangle as they fiddle around with the front door’s lock. He doesn’t want to talk to Hank. He doesn’t even want to face him. Anger still burns intensely within him like a roaring fire that was kindled the moment his partner slammed the door on his face and forced him to stay home from work. Regardless of Connor’s attitude, the door creaks open, Sumo’s kind yelps begin to ring out in a chorus of excitement, and Hank’s footsteps click against the floor as he enters the dimly lit house and heads toward the living room, where a certain android nestles on the well-worn couch.

Connor freezes, unsure of what to do. Should he go to his room? Should he just ignore Hank if he tries to talk to him? No, the silent treatment is immature. He can’t do that. Then what should he do?

What could be adrenaline soars through his plastic veins, his mind clouds up and prohibits any rational ideas, his muscles twitch with anticipation. Having no ideas on what to do or how to escape the desperate situation at hand, he acts purely on instinct and suddenly pulls the blanket up to his chin and rolls over on his side to now face the back of the couch. Then, he shuts his eyes, allowing the only remaining thing for Connor to sense is the daunting echo of Hank’s growing steps in his direction, partnered with the pitter patter of Sumo’s paws clicking as he saunters beside his owner.

If he pretends to sleep, maybe Hank won’t bother him at all. Maybe he’ll leave him alone, and Connor won’t have to interact with him at all.

At least, that’s what Connor hopes.

He remains as still as a stone statue while he listens intently for Hank’s movements, the only movement being his rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he imitates a sleeping state. After a few seconds, the rustle of plastic bags rings out. The bags thud against the kitchen table while, who Connor can only presume is Hank, places them atop it. However, what follows is silence. Not a single sound is heard in the home besides the boring drone of voices emitting through the television.

Confusion dawns on Connor. He’s suddenly lost track of where Hank is, what Hank is doing, and what bothers him the most is that he cannot open his eyes to peep out and see what is going around him. His last sense of sound is gone, leaving the android in the dark on his surroundings.

Out of the blue, there’s a sudden familiar voice amid all the silence.

“Connor?”

It’s quiet and distant, but Connor’s pristine ears can hear it all the same. All artificial muscles in his body freeze at the call of his name, and his mind begins to whirl in a frenzy.

_Please don’t walk over._

_Oh, please don’t come over here._

Like always, his wishes aren’t granted. The house seems to shake as Hank takes a few clambering steps forward into the living room. It abruptly stops, and Connor can feel the presence of Hank’s looming stature above him along with an accompanying pair of eyes burning into him. He can almost feel his LED as it begins to flicker away from ocean blue and swirl into the telltale yellow.

“Connor.”

The repeated mention of his name is less of a question this time, but more of a statement. Connor can still feel that accusing, intense stare of Hank’s as the older man sees right past this little act of his.

His eyes pop open at once, and he turns over on his spot of the couch to gaze daggers at his friend still looming over him on the couch. “What?”

Hank puts his hands up to his chest as if trying to defend himself against Connor’s spiteful response. “Damn, someone’s in a bad mood.”

Regardless of this, Hank whips around from his stance on the side of the couch and moves to the front. He then plops down into the empty spot by Connor’s feet, the thick cushions sinking down slightly at the sudden weight.

Connor gazes at him with his mouth open slightly, appalled at the sight. Hank appears far past fuming, relaxed even, as he leans against the couch with his fingers fiddling with the buttons on the remote controller now in his hand.

That pesky, still not-put-out fire continues to blaze inside of him at this sight. His fierce eyes narrow as he stares Hank down, hoping to catch his eye and give him another evil glare.

The police lieutenant, whether or not he noticed, ignores this rude gesture of Connor. Instead, he resumes watching the hockey game now playing on the television. An uncomfortable heaviness settles between them, and Sumo suddenly jumps up between the narrow spot left in the middle of them on the couch as if trying to create some kind of distance between them.

“So, how was your afternoon?”

The out-of-the-blue statement startles Connor, and after the shock wears off, annoyance stirs inside of him like a growing tornado.

_How was my afternoon?_

_Are you serious?_

The urge to grab last night’s sticky remains in the cup of lemonade on the coffee table and chuck it on Hank’s face grows within Connor. However, he tries to fight it, willing all anger-induced urges away and trying to keep his hands by his sides under the blanket and not wrapped around the cup. However, sparks of bitterness still flicker in his soul.

_How could he be saying that?_

_Does he not remember what he did?_

Putting forth that fuming energy into somewhere less damaging, Connor instead decides to spit out an answer. He keeps his eyes averted as he finally speaks, and pulls his arms out of under the thick blanket to cross them over his chest.

“Fine.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor catches Hank prying his attention away from the screen to face the android at the blunt statement.

“Just fine?” Hank prods, words curious and gentle. “You sure?

There’s a long moment of silence. All the while, Connor keeps his eyes trained intently on the television even though sports, much less ice hockey, never caught his interest.

“...It was boring.”

It’s now Hank’s turn to cross his arms over his chest. Connor’s sure that these snippy responses are ticking his friend off.

Well, good.

“Boring?” Hank pesters, prying for more information. Connor can sense the desperation in his voice as he tries pathetically to make conversation, though all words passed between them are dry. “Well, what did you do?”

“Nothing really,” the android answers curtly. He’s trying to will all words back and ignore his partner beside him, but he’s instead finding himself unable to. He’s sick of that stone-cold expression on his face, sick of being so harsh and locked off. The compassionate side of him fights for dominance, and it continues to shine out. “All I did was watch TV with Sumo.”

He’s careful to not mention anything about searching through his programs and standing before Zen’s door - Hank doesn’t need to know about that.

Hank appears confused for a moment before answering, “But, wouldn’t that be nice? To just do nothing but watch TV? Sounds like a fun afternoon to me.”

“No,” Connor spits out, his single word venomous. His eyes pull away from the TV they were glued to so that he can finally give Hank the evil glare he’s been trying to give purely out of spite. “It wasn’t. I...I like having some time to relax, I guess. But a whole afternoon was awful. I hate it.”

Hank goes quiet as he stares back at Connor, his kind eyes contrasting the harsh glare of the android’s. His mind seems to be whirring with responses, trying to figure out how to complete the complex puzzle of pleasing his fuming partner before him. He’s trying, he’s trying so hard to amend everything that went down earlier, and it makes Connor sick at how he himself is acting by remaining cold and snippy.

“Well, why didn’t you do something productive or...something?” Hank says, his words careful and hesitant. “I mean, you could’ve done chores, or, uh-“

“What am I, your maid or something?” Connor barks back, that monster within him emerging at Hank’s comment. Deep down, he knows what the police lieutenant truly meant, and how he wasn’t trying to suggest anything like that. It makes him writhe in guilt at his answers, his coldness, but he just can’t hold it all back. It’s as if he’s a shaken bottle of soda ready to burst the moment the cap is popped off.

Oh, how much Connor wishes he could shut himself up sometimes.

“No!” Hank interjects, cutting his arm out in front of himself for emphasis. “No, I didn’t fucking mean that.”

There’s another long, awkward pause in the conversation. It drags on for what feels like hours, the walls seeming to close in between them and causing the air to become thick and heavy.

Sumo jumps off of the couch out of the blue as if sick of spending another moment between his two quarreling caretakers. With this sudden bustle of activity providing the right moment, Hank follows suit and heaves his body off the couch. The android is left deserted yet again, the abandoned side of the couch already growing cold. Connor watches with silent, watchful eyes as Hank trods over to the kitchen and reaches the table. There, he separates the grocery bags from the fast food bags with bottoms already splotched with grease stains, causing the android’s face to contort into a grimace as guilt grows in a pit in his stomach at his partner’s unhealthy choice of dinner.

Hank begins to pulls parts of his dinner out of the bags one at a time, gently placing the tightly wrapped cheeseburger and large cup of overflowing salty curly fries on the table as if they were expensive artifacts and not artificial junk food. As he does so, Sumo watches with those big puppy-dog eyes of his and begins to visibly drool. The old dog trudges over to his empty food bowl and starts to whine. It’s a high-pitched, pathetic sound, loud enough for each of his owners to hear it and hopefully cater to his will.

Oddly enough, instead of taking initiative and replenishing the bowl of food, Hank just stares at his old dog with mourning eyes of his own as if they are sharing some kind of deep pain together. There’s a strange glint in his eye that catches Connor’s attention, and he watches the police lieutenant with suspicious eyes from his spot at the couch.

“I know,” Hank coos to Sumo in a comforting tone, “I know, he’s being mean. It’s okay, I’m here.”

An angry rush of disgust rips through Connor’s systems. The frown plastered on his stone-cold face deepens as he chides, “Hank, what’re you saying?”

Sumo continues to whine, clearly annoyed at his owner not yet bidding to his will and handing him the food he patiently pleads for. Hank uses this to his advantage and continues repeating in a gentle, low tone, “I know, it’s okay, boy.”

Connor stands up from the couch in a swift, rigid motion, annoyance fueling the abrupt action. Oh, how that urge to chuck that cup of lemonade at his friend grows. He crosses his arms across his chests and puffs out, “Seriously? Hank, stop.”

Sumo, fed up with no one helping him out yet with his need for food, trails over to Hank and rubs against his bottom leg in a desperate call for attention. At this motion, Hank bends down and rubs the old dog’s chubby face all over.

“It’s okay, Sumo,” Hank says to continue his little act. A smile slips through, however, and it slowly stretches across his face as that mischievous glimmer in his eye sparkles. “Connor’s just having a little temper tantrum, don’t worry.”

Out of the blue, a small chuckle escapes from the android and a small grin accompanies it. Bothered by this sudden appearance of joy, he quickly stifles the laugh and forces his lips to turn into a deeper frown in sync with his narrowing eyebrows. But, the effort is futile, and the smile breaks free, a ripple of sunshine on a stormy day.

“You’re being very immature,” Connor states as he keeps his arms crossed tight against his chest, as if maybe pretending to still be mad would make it become reality. But, the words seem to have lost their cool touch and are now light, each one wavering on the brim of laughter.

The police lieutenant glances up from petting Sumo as he notices the positive shift in Connor’s tone. He raises an eyebrow in a doubting manner, that smile of his brightening. “I’m being immature? You’re one to talk, Con.”

The android finally moves away from his stature by the couch and meets up with Hank in the kitchen. There, he falls before him into one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table. Before joining Connor at the table, Hank finally pours Sumo a bowl of dog food that he waited so patiently for and then grabs a bottle of ice cold Coke from the refrigerator. Finally ready to dive into dinner, Hank settles into a wooden chair opposite of Connor at the table, the rest of his greasy dinner set on the wooden surface before him.

Once settled, silence sweeps over the duo. But this time, the quietness is pleasant. Not awkward, heavy with tension, or anything like that. It’s simply pleasant, just as it should be.

Connor glances up at Hank who is oblivious to his surroundings as he chows down on his large cheeseburger. His dark eyes scan his friend, taking careful inspection of every little detail - the sluggish movements, the darkening bags under his eyes, the frequent sighs.

“You seem tired,” Connor points out after a few seconds of silent staring which is thankfully gone unnoticed by his friend.

“Huh?” Hank says, finally glancing up as he polishes off the last remaining crumbs of his burger. Wiping his fingers on the bunch of unused napkins beside him, the confusion on his face seems to disappear as it finally registers in his mind what Connor stated while he was zoned in on his eating. He answers, “Oh. Well, yeah. It’s a been a pretty long day, I guess. Though, you really had all the action - chasing down that android and getting shot and all that. You’re probably way more tired than me, huh?”

Connor shakes his head. “No, not at all. Quite the opposite, actually. My body is programmed to always be working, so doing absolutely nothing all afternoon makes me feel like I have to get moving or something. I kind of want to get out tonight, maybe. I don’t know.”

Hank chuckles as he crumples the wrapper that once held the cheeseburger in a tight ball and lightly sweeps it off to the side. “Yeah, it’s the same with humans. Gotta move around at least a bit. That’s why I’m glad I have a pretty active job. If I worked at an office or somethin’, sitting at a desk all day, I’d look like a sack of shit in no time.”

A mischievous grin matching that of Hank’s earlier grows on Connor’s face. “As if you don’t?”

“Hey!”

Hank throws the wrapper ball at him, and he giggles as he shields his face with his hands to protect himself from the hit. His reactions are perfectly timed, but the ball still passes by his hands and reaches his cheek before falling back on the table. The teasing comment was still worth it in Connor’s eyes, though.

“But anyway,” the android continues, laughter finally fading away, “You know I’m fine, Hank. Androids don’t get tired.”

Hank, who was digging around in the fast food bag in search of something, pauses to look up and make eye contact. “You and I both know that’s a load of bullshit, Con.”

Connor rolls his eyes slightly at the remark, but yet he doesn’t argue against it either. It’s beyond strange, and it still feels unnatural to say, but perhaps Hank has a point. And that point he has makes Connor’s stomach churn, makes his LED cycle a sudden vibrant yellow, makes his body feel at unease. It’s still so _strange_.

Why _isn’t_ he like a machine?

Why does he get tired, get sad, get _emotional?_

He shouldn’t be so human like.

It just doesn’t make any sense.

_I’m just a machi-_

“Uh, Connor? Whatcha thinking about?”

The android is thrown out of his deepening thoughts at sudden question from across the table. He regains focus only to find Hank staring at him with an eyebrow raised. His eyes flicker over to the side of Connor’s temple every few seconds as he stares holes through his startled friend.

“Oh, uh, nothing,” he answers, words hesitant from being jarred out of his thoughts.

Finally finished with their awkward staring contest, Hank goes back to his dinner. He starts to search the table for something, and having no success, begins to get frantic as he tries searching through his bag. He pulls out stray napkins and forgotten fries quickly, growing more visibly concerned as the seconds go by. Before Connor can even ask what’s wrong, Hank asks, “Aw, did they forget honey mustard?”

Connor crosses his arms and settles back into his chair as he heaves a sigh.

“There’s some left in the fridge from the last time you ate out,” the android adds, voice flat with mild annoyance for making him get all concerned over nothing but missing condiments. Hank looks up from his frantic search, and a look of relief crosses over his features.

“Ah, thanks.”

He stands up from his chair to get some, and after grabbing two fast-food packages of the sickly yellow dressing from the refrigerator, he heads back to finally eat his fries. As he does so, however, he stops in his tracks as something seems to visibly cross his mind.

“What?” Connor prods at this sudden pause.

Hank, ignoring his friend’s question, moves over to the side of the kitchen table that holds the grocery bags and begins to dig through them. After a few seconds of this, he seems to find what he’s looking for, and he pulls out 3 packages of thirium.

Connor stares at the metallic-tasting blue liquid for a few moments. Then, he pipes up, “Why’d you buy that?”

“‘Cause you need some,” Hank replies, chucking a package in Connor’s direction. Instead of it hitting him this time, his perfectly timed reaction allows him to catch it right into his hands with ease.

Connor squeezes the package in his hands, watching the blue liquid smear around. “I do? I thought I had some before.”

“While you were out - or uh, shut down,” Hank begins before hesitating on his words as if they are taboo to say aloud, as if Connor being an android and not human is still too absurd to speak out about. He sits back down before continuing, “The lady back at the police station said you needed a few more of these before you’d be one hundred percent. She said she’d give me more, but there was only one left in storage.”

Connor twists off the cap and puts the package to his lips. He’s met with that same metallic taste that melts on his tongue - not bad tasting, but no flavor, either. Not that he could taste it if it had any flavor besides “metal”.

After finishing his small sip, he asks, “How’d you get these? They don’t sell them at the store, do they?”

Hank shrugs, the look of surprise on his face matching Connor’s. He eats a few fries, then swallows so he can answer, “Actually, yeah. A few stores started stocking them lately. I guess it isn’t illegal. Well, technically it isn’t legal, but…”

“They haven’t made any laws yet, so I’m not surprised,” Connor contributes as he brings the package up, ready to take another sip.

They lapse into yet another silence as they each eat - or drink, in Connor’s case. Within a few minutes, both have finished everything and begin to clean up.

“So, you said you wanted to get out?”

Connor glances up from taking out the trash to look at Hank, who is wiping the table. As he watches him do the simple chore, the android can’t help but feel twinges of pride. To see his friend be so responsible and caring of his home, too see him actually show _effort_ \- it causes Connor to feel accomplished, and that feeling of accomplishment is better than what he felt when he completed his “missions” from before. Those given by Amanda, meant only to hunt down those of his kind...Hank is clearly an upgraded mission.

The android shakes his head lightly as he tries to pull his mind back to reality and answer Hank’s question. “Oh, uh, I guess. I mean, if you’re too tired-“

Hank looks up from the table to give his partner a small reassuring smile. “Nah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Connor affirms, seeming doubtful as his eyebrows furrow together. “I was thinking maybe we could just watch a movie here, or the game, or something like that.”

Hank chuckles lightly, and his smile grows a bit brighter. “You don’t even like watching sports.”

A hint of blush appears on the android’s face, and he shrugs sheepishly. “Well, I thought-“

“Besides,” Hank cuts Connor off. A glint of mischief appears in his eyes as he continues, “Doing something would be better than sitting around all night. Otherwise, I might look like a “sack of shit”, according to you.”

Connor laughs softly, that shy smile growing even more. “I was just joking, Hank.”

“I know, I know. Just teasing ya.”

The android watches curiously from the trash can, garbage bag still in hand, as Hank nonchalantly grabs his key off the counter and moves to his room. Confusion fueling his actions, Connor lightly places the garbage bag back on the ground and follows his friend to his room. There, he finds Hank putting his jacket on.

Once his jacket is on, Hank notices Connor in the doorway. “You ready to go?”

“Huh?” He answers, dumbfounded as he stands in the doorway like a deer caught in the headlights. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now,” Hank replies as he slides past Connor standing idly in the doorway. Without even turning around for a second, he’s already heading to the front door.

Connor moves out of the doorway to watch Hank. Suddenly, he springs over to follow him out the door. The frigid air slaps him across his face as they exit into the winter night. “Wait, where?”

“Somewhere,” is all Hank says as they bound to his old car, the whir of the engine roaring through the frozen, still air and preparing to take them somewhere mysterious for the night.

**_~~~_ **

The upbeat notes of jazz music flood from the car speakers and pour into the heated air surrounding the duo as they drive. Hank hums slightly to the catchy tune as Connor gazes out the window, cheek almost pressed against the cool foggy window. His chestnut, curious eyes flicker around as he admires the sea of stars that twinkle in the winter night sky above.

A certain feeling of peace settles in the android as they glide through the streets. Enjoyable music, a tranquil environment, sitting beside his friend - it is almost like some sort of therapy to him. As if perhaps all he needed was a night like this - a night with no stressors, a night with something to actually do, a night away from the hectiness of life itself.

Connor pries his eyes away from the window and turns his head slighty to sneak a few glances at Hank. There’s a hint of a smile on the old face as he hums along to the radio, head slightly bobbing along to the catchy beats. His bright blue eyes seem to twinkle with delight as he gazes out into the road past the windshield. The entire sight of contentment is a rare one see, and the android’s heart flutters with joy as he watches it, a smile of his own creeping onto his face.

Hank seems happy, too.

All of a sudden, he snaps his head over to look at Connor. He seems to have noticed the staring. “What?”

“O-oh, uh, nothing,” Connor replies swiftly as slight twinges of rosy red appearing on his cheeks. He awkwardly places his gaze back out the frosty window to resume his stargazing. “Sorry.”

Hank huffs out a small chuckle. “Alright then.”

The conversation dies as quickly as it was born, and the car regains its serenity yet again. However, after a few more moments of this, Connor looks over to Hank and breaks the silence yet again.

“How much longer until we get there?”

Hank yanks left on his steering wheel before answering, “Actually, we’re here.”

The android glances out the window, and there, he watches as the car rolls into a dirt, half-covered with snow parking lot. Past the parking lot, there’s a large clearing surrounded by dense trees. Dark figures lay scattered within the clearing. However, they are unrecognizable by Connor, for the tinted windows inhibit his sight.

The car rolls to the stop into one of the parking slots. Once they are fully at a stop, they each exit the car, blasts of frigid air whipping around them in contrast with the heated interior of the car.

Now finally out in the open, Connor studies the clearing. Within, there lays a playground equipped with a wooden tower-like structure, a slide, a set of monkey bars connected to the structure, and seesaws scattered around the wood chips. A few yards away lies a swing set. It is complete with four swings lightly swaying on their chains in the wind.

However, next to the entire setup is a vast pond that stretches out to fill the entire rest of the clearing. The water within has frozen from the chilling temperatures and now remains as a thick sheet of ice. The vibrant light of the full moon in the sky rafctacts off of it, giving off a gastly glow amidst the darkness.

“It sure is quiet, huh?” Hank points out. His sudden words grab Connor’s attention, and he faces his friend to watch as the police lieutenant gazes across the scene as well. There’s a strange hint of remembrance in his crinkled blue eyes, almost as if memories are flooding through behind them yet unseen to the android. “Though, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s late and pretty damn cold right now. You should’ve been here during the summer days, Con. It sure got pretty crowded.”

The android is quiet for a moment as he processes. He looks out at the clearing yet again, and a large sign catches his eye. _Jaconston’s Park,_ it reads in bold lettering. As he stares at it, eyebrows furrowed and LED pulsating a sudden yellow, questions pile in a heap within his mind - questions regarding what is so special about this place, why Hank is talking as if he has been here before, why Connor was brought here just now. In the end, he resolves on only speaking out about the latter.

“Why’d you bring me here? To this park?”

Hank locks eyes with Connor. Then, a small, warm smile appears and his eyes twinkle with a certain hint of anticipation. “You said you wanted to get out, huh? I thought I might as well show you something.”

With that, Hank begins to stroll across the parking lot. He quickly reaches the dewy grass, and once there, he heads in the direction of the vast pond amidst the clearing.

Connor remains frozen for a few seconds, unable to respond as his mind whirs with question. After a few seconds, however, he’s quickly stunned out of his unmoving stature and his legs jump into action to catch up with his partner. His feet move rapidly and at almost double the speed of Hank’s. Regardless, the old police lieutenant had a big head start, and Connor struggles to reach him quickly with the man always seeming a few steps ahead.

The once-distant pond grows closer to them with each step, its image bobbing up and down in Connor’s view with each hasty step. Before long, it’s only a few yards away from him, and Hank is already standing at the edge as he waits patiently for his friend still left in his tracks. A cool wind wafts from its icy surface; it caresses Connor’s face and whips around his body as he approaches, almost as if it’s welcoming him with an invitation to join Hank at its side.

But that certain invitation causes Connor to stop dead in his tracks.

Something dark and strange settles over the android at the chilling wind. The way it spun around him, the way it came across his face. The chill on his body. The brush against his face. He doesn’t know what this feeling is, doesn’t know how to process it. His body reacts before his mind even has the chance - a knot forms in his figurative stomach and twists and pulsates, his thirium pump regulator begins to thud in his chest and thunder in his ears, his LED starts to flash yellow with slices of deep red emerging. Connor’s cinnamon eyes widen in sheer panic, a mixture of confusion and an unknown fear like a stalking lion whirling within him like a growing tornado.

Regardless of how the wind was light and wispy a few mere seconds ago, it picks up immensely and begins to swirl around him as if he were in the dead center of a blizzard. Snow and sharp ice particles blend within the wind, and they slap Connor in the face with multitudes if tiny pinpricks. His eyes squint in resistance and his arms wrap across his body as struggles to remain upright through the spontaneous, treacherous weather.

Within the ear-deafening wind, echoes of voices can be heard only slightly. Connor strains his ears to listen, and they finally grow louder.

  
_“What was planned from the very beginning...You were compromised and you became a deviant. We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program...”_   
  
The stone cold, yet familiar female voice seeps into him like injected poison as he stands slightly hunched over in the midst of the howling blizzard, like some unsuspecting prey out in the blatant open ready to be struck upon. His LED flashes a vibrant bright red and his face drops as the voice finally registers within him. The sudden realization coming upon him is as if a dark cloud promising a thunderstorm had suddenly swept over Connor and enveloped him in darkness, for his stomach begins to churn fiercely and his mind fogs up with alarm, not allowing any reassuring thoughts to clear it.

_Amanda?_

_Level of Stress_ _  
_ **^86%** **  
**_Probability of Self Destruction: High_

The words continue, each one a piercing stab as they are spoken.  
  
_“...You did what you were designed to do.”_ The words are full of congratulations, yet cause chills to race down Connor’s spine. _“You accomplished your mission.”_ _  
_

His brown, wild eyes dance around his environment in search for the women. Connor’s head snaps in all directions around him as he searches for her through the thick winters swirls enclosing him. But all he can see is the iced-over pond beside him, the ice, the snow, a blur of white that is impenetrable by his computerized vision. His eyes continue to dance around, seeking desperately for a sliver, a hint, a flash of color to reveal her whereabouts. Unfortunately, nothing is seen besides the sheer white of the blizzard. He cannot see anyone or anything, cannot find Hank, and panic overwhelms the android as he whips around in all direction to find some escape, find some way out-

“Connor!”

The gentle touch on his arm pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. Connor’s head snaps over, face wild and panicked as if it had just witnessed some awful horror. As he looks around, he finds that his sight had cleared, all snow and ice vanished from the air and the wind that carried it now settled back into its previous calm speed that only lightly swayed the trees in a synchronized dance.

In the midst of it all is Hank, staring intently at Connor with that familiar expression of concern as his eyebrows furrow deep over his arctic eyes. His hand is now tightly clenching the android’s arm as if any lighter of a grasp would cause him to slip right through Hank’s fingers and fall to the ground.

“Hank?” Connor replies, dumbfounded. His tense muscles relax, and his LED suddenly switches to a pale yellow at the sight of his friend.

 _Level of Stress_ _  
_ **⌄67** **  
**_Probability of Self Destruction: Moderate_

“Fuck, Connor, stop...stop doing that!” Hank barks out, his face becoming warped with a mixture of fear and anger. Through his rigid facial features, crystal orbs stare deep into the android’s eyes with the kind of intensity that makes him feel as if holes are being burned into him. Hank’s grasp on his arm tightens as he continues, eyes wide with panic, “You keep doing this thing where you just...freeze. And then, and then you don’t answer me. And, and you panic. It’s just fucking freaking me out, ‘cause I don’t...I don’t…”

As his pathetic words seep into Connor, his soft, mocha eyes melt and his insides twist with remorse. He drops the intense eye contact at once to stare bullets at the ground below him. His shoulders slump, and he meekly hugs himself. With a voice as weak as thin ice, he replies, “I-I’m sorry.”

There’s a long pause. Connor is unsure of how Hank is responding to this weak apology, for his eyes are still staring at his black, shiny shoes surrounded by disturbed snow. He considers glancing up to get some sort of hint on how his friend is reacting before Hank suddenly heaves a loud sigh.

“Kid, you don’t have to apologize. I’m just...I'm just worried, alright?”

Connor slowly brings his head up to face his partner, tail tucked between his legs as shame seems to wrap around him. They share a long stare, as if maybe the longer they look, the more they’ll understand each other. The more they’ll both figure out what to do in this situation that feels as if all exits have been blocked and there’s no solution.

“...I know.”

The park becomes quiet yet again, and heaviness fills the air.

“So, uh,” Connor speaks out all of a sudden as he fidgets with his hands. He wanted to say something before Hank furthers the conversation, but he immediately regrets speaking out, for his words seem to shatter the safety of the silence. Now attentive, Hank glances over and stays silent as he waits patiently for his partner to continue. But Connor is now all out of words, that beginning phrase being all there was. The awkward seconds tick by, and the longer time drags on, the more a longing for that quarter still tucked safely into his jacket pocket grows. “Um, what’d you want to show me?”

A sudden spark of light returns to Hank’s face, a warm and bright contrasts to his usually stone cold features. However, the light quickly dies down once hesitation grabs a hold of him just as quickly as he had forgotten the android’s previous incident. He peers at Connor with a worried frown that deepens, appearing as if he wants to say something but just cannot get the words out.

“Oh, um,” he begins. Each word is weak and unsure as he says them aloud. “Well, I wanted to teach you something.”

Connor cocks his head to the side. “What is it?”

“You sure you want to do it?”

The android’s crosses his arms at Hank’s question of doubt. He tosses him a staged affable stare while he answers as evenly as possible, trying to subdue the infrequent shudders, “Yes, Hank. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you…”

“Hank, just drop it. Please. I’m fine.”

The police lieutenant gives one more look of disbelief. Connor focuses to keep his gaze unwavering; his LED, however, still refuses to switch away from yellow. Regardless, Hank visibly gives up. With one more questioning stare, he hops off the ground beside the pond and onto the ice. A crackle sounds out from the impact, but thankfully no crack is seen on the surface. After Hank is sure that he is steady, he clumsily begins to glide across the pond’s slippery surface with arms slightly raised to keep him balanced.

Connor peers at his friend with his head still slightly cocked. “What are you doing?”

Hank continues to glide without even turning to face the android still standing idly by the pond. “I’m ice skating.”

Interest now piqued of this strange activity, Connor searches the word “ice skating” on the internet through his mind.

  
**Ice skat·ing**   
/ˈīs ˌskādiNG/   
_Noun_   
_Skating on ice as a sport or pastime. Ice skating became a recognized sport in 1876. Skaters are marked for technical and artistic excellence in performing a series of prescribed patterns and free skating ( figure skating ) or a choreographed series of dance moves ( ice dancing )._

 

Videos of ice skaters appear in his mind as well as the dictionary definition. They drift across the ice with ice skates on their feet, each movement smooth, impeccable, and graceful. Spits of crushed ice particles erupt from their powerful line of direction and bounce into the air only a mere centimeters above the ice. Between moments of flying on the ice, they hop into the air to either soar for a few seconds or to perform extraordinary twists with a perfect landing that sends them back into their original fluid movement across the ground.

His vision clears of the videos and definitions to reveal Hank on the ice again. Clearly, his ice skating can hardly even be described as the activity - it’s more of a clunky slide that’s worthy of pitiful laughter.

“That’s not ice skating,” Connor confirms, a small smile appearing on his face as he continues to watch his friend stumble around. “Ice skating involves technical and artistic excellence as you perform a series of prescribed patterns. It’s not just moving around on ice. Besides, you don’t even have skates on - you’re wearing shoes. What you’re doing is...ice shoeing.”

Hank finally stops his clumsy glide to face his friend and give him a glare. “Hilarious, Connor. Try to have some imagination, will ya? Sometimes I feel like I’m talking to a machi-“

He stops suddenly, then gives his head a little shake. “Just, do you wanna join or not?”

Connor freezes. He looks at Hank, then at the ice before his feet, then back up again. His LED flickers slightly as he speaks out, words doubtful, “On the ice?”

“Yes, the ice.” Hank rolls his eyes as he answers in a voice dripping in sarcasm. But then, noticing how Connor still isn’t making any movement and is standing as rigid as a pole beside the ice, he cocks his head slightly. “What? Is there a problem?”

The android’s LED begins to flash its yellow color sporadically. He shifts side-to-side on his feet as he speaks, “This...ice skating...I can’t do that. It’s not in my program.”

“Then add it!”

Connor knows deep down that his partner is right. There are numerous activities that weren’t originally in his program but had been acquired throughout his time with Hank - cooking for him, imitating a sleeplike state, dreaming, crying. The police lieutenant is right in saying that the solution to this problem is to just add ice skating to his program, for he certainly could.

But that’s not the issue.

Connor’s eyes are drawn like mosquitoes to light back to the iced-over pond. A sudden chill creeps up his spine at the sight and he shudders with fright. And all he can feel is the snow and ice particles whipping against him, the wind wrapping around him, Amanda’s glare burning into him, fear consuming him-

“Connor?”

Connor’s head snaps back up, eyes wild and LED showing slivers of deep crimson.

“Are you alright?” Hank questions, that all-too-common concern already creeping into his voice.

The android makes no movement as first, remaining as a deer caught in the headlights as he stays frozen by the pond with a face full of panic. But then, he shakes his head quickly. “Here, I-I’m coming.”

With that, he drags his heavy leg forward and places it on the ice. His leg shakes, and Connor tries to suppress the shivers before they are caught by Hank’s all-seeing-eyes. His leglands on the weak ice and already seems as if it’s unwilling to hold him, unwilling to keep him safe, unwilling to promise him that this decision to get in the ice isn’t foolish. There’s a deep longing within him to turn back, to run away from this pond that continues to shoot memories at him in painful bursts. Despite these, he presses on and brings his other leg onto the ice. The slippery surface under his feet causes him to wobble, and he waves his arms slightly to steady himself just as Hank had done before.

His body doesn’t steady, though. That feeling of wintery particles stabbing into his face and wind slamming against his body continues to peg him, horrible memory after memory after memory. The ground seems to waver intensely under his feet as he slides around hopelessly, all the while wanting desperately to turn back and run away from these stupid memories. He squeezes his eyes closed, as if maybe he can shut them out, push them away, get _them out of his head_. He feels himself sway in the wind, feels himself begin to fall over; all the while, though, his eyes remain closed in a panic.

All of a sudden, a cold, tight grasp wraps around both of his hands. It quickly steadies him from toppling over and brings him standing up straight again on the slippery ice. But Connor doesn’t notice how he’s standing again, or how he was saved from falling through the ice. He is noticing something else.

_Touch._

Such a simple word, yet a strange, pleasant sensation of electricity seems to zap from Connor’s hands where they are now being tightly squeezed. His eyes pop open in pure astonishment, and he looks down to find that his hands are engulfed by Hank’s chilled hands.

Oddly enough, they no longer appear like his hands anymore. There is no olive synthetic skin there to make him resemble the humans he was designed to portray. Instead, they are revealing white porcelain, for all of the skin once covering them has retracted up to his wrists. A soft blue glow emits from his palms and reflects light around them.

Connor’s eyes widen and his mouth grows open as he stares at the sight, appalled. He’s never held hands with anyone for any reason. But now, having Hank grab them to steady him and protect him from falling on the ice, his hands have...reacted. All without his decision or prompt. He has heard of this phenomenon before between androids who were close, whether it was in love or just emotionally connected. And all Connor can think through his jarred mind as he gapes at the sight is how there can’t be any connection. There just can’t be. They are only partners, friends at best. Not...

Not... _family._

The word “family” echoes in his mind, a bouncing ball of sound waves that causes Connor’s head to spin. He tenses up, fingers curling and all other fake muscles in his body tightening. They can’t be close, they can’t be. They can’t be family. They just _can’t._

_I’m dangerous_

_I’m a threat to Hank._

_I’ll kill him._

_Amanda will make me._

_I’m-_

Hank’s grasp on Connor tightens in a reassuring squeeze. Thrown out of his dark thoughts that begin to fade away behind him, the android glances up to face him. There’s a genuine warm smile on his face, a ripple of sunshine through the dark, wintery night. It seems to glow with a surprised amusement as he stares at the strange appearance of Connor’s hands. The gleeful sight of his friend allows a welcoming twinge of joy to rekindle in Connor’s darkening heart. A small smile of his own appears on his lips, and his cinnamon eyes crinkle with delight.

Out of nowhere, Hank begins to slide across the ice at a quickening pace. His fingers are still interlaced in Connor’s, causing the android to follow in his friend’s direction as he drifts. They move together in circles, feeling as light as a feather while the ice at their feet nudges them in all directions. The movement is awkward and clunky at first, for Connor almost topples over from the first swift pulls; but, after a few moments of this, he gains confidence and the pair skates in a synchronized pattern with hands still clutching each other for steadiness.

The chilly wind laps against Connor’s body and snow seems to pull from the ground from the wind’s gentle force and float against his face. However, now the gesture doesn’t prompt fright or fear. Instead, it’s...oddly soothing. A fresh change in perspective. Gliding here with Hank, having no worry as he looks into those bright blue eyes who care _so_ much for him...Connor can’t help the laugh that erupts from him. It’s a small chuckle at first, but it turns into a full on laugh that makes his heart feel light and put his mind finally at ease.

Hank quickly joins in on the laughter, his face crinkling in joy as he studies his jubilant partner enjoying himself. Before long, the two partners are laughing so hard that they begin to wobble on the ice. The ground sways beneath them, and suddenly, both of them fall to the ground and thud gently against the thick ice. They slide on its smooth surface and finally break apart their grasp. Connor’s synthetic skin creeps back atop his hand at the removal of touch, and it appears just as a human’s hand would yet again.

After a few more minutes of uncontrolled laughter, the hearty laughs die into giggles and eventually fade into the light wind, carried away through the crisp, winter air. Connor glances up at Hank, his mocha eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

“That was…” Connor begins before being interrupted with a chuckle. “...surprisingly fun.”

Hank grins. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

With a sigh, he lays down with his back against the surface of the ice and the front of his body facing toward the night sky. Connor watches with hesitant eyes for a moment, but curiosity takes over and he awkwardly follows suit. The chill of the ice seeps through his thick jacket and sturdy jeans, thus reaching his back and legs and cooling them. But, he doesn’t mind - it isn’t like temperature really affects him unless it’s at an extreme to harm him. In silence, they each gaze at the deep blue sky together. The android’ curious eyes flicker around as he studies the stars sprinkled across the sky - twinkling, bright, and beautiful. The same stars that he admired on the drive here, their excellence still now shown.

“Thank you for teaching me how to do this, Hank.”

Connor’s words prompt Hank to turn his head over to face his friend still laying beside him on the ice. “Huh?”

“To ice skate, I mean,” the android clarifies. A sudden smirk appears on his face. “Or ice shoe, I guess you could say.”

Hank chuckles. “Yeah, no problem, kid.”

A calming silence drapes over the duo again, but a pressing question forms in Connor’s mind. He hesitates breaking the quietness, for there is fear of the response or reaction to the question. But as always with the android, curiosity wins.

“Where’d you get the idea to do this?”

Connor doesn’t face Hank anymore, which isn’t very helpful, for now he can’t read the expression on his face. All he is answered with is silence at first, and worry that he shouldn’t have even asked grows as time passes by without any answer.

“We used to come to the park a lot.”

Hank finally states this calmly, and relief floods over the android. He turns to face his older friend who now gazes absentmindedly at the sky, and he watches his blue eyes seem to glaze over as if memories are flashing before them. “One day we came in the winter, and the pond was frozen over. He had the strange idea to slide around on it, saying that we could all go ice skating. I thought it was stupid, just like you did, but I tried anyway. And it was super awkward at first, and I’m sure everyone at the park was staring. But, after a while, it was really fun - just sliding on the ice, pretending we were ice skaters at the olympics or something. I soon didn’t care what anyone thought. So we did it again the next day. And again. Until spring came around and the ice melted, where we went back to doing swings or whatever like we did before.”

Silence consumes him, and he shuts his mouth with all confessions stuffed back inside.

“We?” Connor prods, still staring intently at his friend who refuses to meet his eyes. “Who’s the ‘we’?”

There’s another pause.

“Me, my ex-wife...and Cole.”

Connor finally pulls his eyes away and studies the sky. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Connor feels a pair of eyes burning into him. “Don’t be.”

The sudden cracking of ice snaps through the air. Both friends look down at the ice they are laid upon, and a snaking line of a crack through the ice appears beneath them. Their heads each snap over to glance at each other with widened eyes, and without another moment of hesitation, they scramble off the ice and jog to the edge of the pond. The crackling of ice follows them as they dart away, urging each of their legs to move faster. They thankfully reach the edge and collapse onto it with the ice giving away behind them with a finally snap. They watch in an awed silence as frigid water appears between the cracks and sloshes around as chunks of ice plop into it.

The air becomes still again once the pond calms. Breaking the silence, Hank turns to face his partner with a small grin. “We should go home, huh?”

Connor meets Hank’s eyes. Almost all sadness of his recollection of the memories with Cole seem to have faded away from his eyes for now, with only bright shining left behind as they reflect the moon’s white gaze. The android knows deep down, however, that the sadness isn’t truly gone. It’s faded, not erased. Maybe it will be erased some day in the future, or maybe it will last forever. He can’t be sure. All that he knows is that it will take time - and being beside him to help will surely improve things. Connor promises to himself, right then and there, that he will hold himself accountable to always being there no matter what - he has to be.

Just like how Hank is always there for him.

“Yeah,” Connor says, a warm smile of his own on his face. “We should.”


	16. To Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it feels like forever since I’ve updated, sorry about that! This chapter took me a while to write though - it’s over 10,000 words, which is a lot for me lol. But all of it was important to include.
> 
> I actually really enjoyed writing this one. For the first time in a while, writing didn’t really feel like a chore but more like a hobby. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

A gentle breeze flutters through the winter night, causing the dark looming trees surrounding Connor to dance. They shiver off their wavering leaves from the clenches of their branches with a shudder. A flock of dark, winged shadows soar from the disturbed trees and crow out a cry that pierces the stillness in the chilly air. The flapping of their wings echoes around the area as they swirl above before they finally take off in search of a new home to nestle in. The fluffy snow atop the ground displays their indigo shadows, but they finally fade away as the birds exit the large area.

However, Connor isn’t paying any attention to any of these things. His warm eyes are fully locked on those before him, colored an ocean blue and twinkling in the bright moonlight from above. Silver hair encases them in a swaying frame, and a genuine smile is placed upon the lips below. The smile grows as he tightens his gentle grip on Connor’s porcelain hand which glows a soft cyan that casts light shadows on their bodies. With that, he gently pulls Connor, causing him to glide faster across the slippery ice that they stand upon. The cool wind whips around their bodies in a sudden rush, flipping mocha tufts of the android’s hair across his face and back up again with each pull across the ice. 

There’s a true sense of contentedness radiating from the man whom Connor is facing. There’s joy. There’s delight. There’s trust in the android whom he holds, whom he grips onto as the perform another gleeful twirl across the smooth ice below their feet. And Connor returns the smile, his cinnamon eyes squinting slightly in a childlike manner and his relaxed cheeks blushing a soft rosy red that adds a blemish of color in this otherwise dim, dark night in the park.

And this act, this replica of an expression of enjoyment, would certainly persuade even the most cunning man that the android was completely innocent. 

_ I’ve got him,  _ Connor thinks to himself. He tries to conceal the sudden malicious grin that crawls on his face as his body floods with a warm, tingling sense of pride that never fails to gift him contentment. But, he just can’t help the feeling - he’s truly accomplished his mission that he was ordered. Why wouldn’t he be thrilled in himself? 

_ Aren’t you proud, Amanda? _

As if summoned by his inward thoughts, a feminine voice calls out in his ears. Her tone is endearing as she speaks, thus feeding his swelling pride with every word.

“Now is your chance, Connor,” she urges, her dark presence suddenly detected behind him in an always following, always watching shadow. Her cold, long fingers grasp upon his shoulders and wrap atop them, where they then squeeze to send another warning of urgency. An electrical response seems to shoot through his body; it spreads from the initial point of touch and causes his muscles to twitch with anticipation.

“Accomplish your mission and kill Lieutenant Anderson.”

The words do not repel or come as a shock to Connor; instead, they further his intuitions and flood a river of determination through his veins swollen already with the dark blue blood of thirium. He casually pries his one porcelain hand away from Hank’s, and his olive synthetic skin immediately crawls back over from his wrist to the tips of his fingers. Following, the cyan glow vanishes into the air. His movements as they dance across the ice don’t skip a beat, hiding all moments that would warrant suspicion. They continue to glide, twirl, and move gracefully across the thick ice with gazes between them still connected.

But not letting another fleeting moment slip by, Connor moves his free hand towards his back jean pocket. There’s a metallic, deadly item there that’s cool to the touch. The short handle of it pokes out of the top of the pocket, and after searching around for a few split seconds, his fingers gingerly lace the familiar smooth edges of it. He fully gets a hold of it, and without any hesitation, he whips his arm around to pull it out of his pocket and aim forward.

“Don’t protest.”

Hank immediately jumps back in a moment of panic as if the icy ground beneath him had suddenly caught fire. His eyes seem to pop out of their sockets, and his jaw drops open in a reaction of pure horror that could stir even the darkest soul’s stone cold heart. His feet begin to slide on the slippery ice at the jarring reaction, and his burly arms wave around in a desperation to catch himself from falling. He finally steadies after a few seconds of unsure wavering and snaps his gaze back up to face Connor. His crystal blue eyes narrow, thus creating dark creases around his eyes and eyebrows. He studies the android before him - the android with a pistol gripped tightly in the clenches of his hand that’s pointed directly at his creased forehead.

“Connor, what the fuck!” is all Hank states. Each word drips with a venom punch. The words match his expression which is morphed into a mixture of betrayal, confusion, anger, disbelief. All of these emotions display at the same time, creating an ugly mess of a horrified reaction on his dimly lit face crossed with the eerie moonlight shadows that drape over his features.

Connor is a stone cold statue before him - body unmoving and expression unbothered. His warm brown eyes that turn a creamy caramel pigment in the afternoon sun have gone dark, as if someone had dumped black ink into them to suppress all light. His cycling LED casts a vibrant blue over his rigid features and create a sight that would chill even the most brave to the bone.

“I don’t want a fight, Lieutenant,” the android calls out as his fingers grip around the gun’s handle tighter. His voice has gone flat, removing all traces of excitement and childlike innocence that use to remain within. “Do as I say.”

“The fu-“

“Get on your knees, Lieutenant.”

The air is dead still when no one makes any movement. Hank just stares back into Connor’s lifeless eyes with his mouth still gaping open. Maybe he’s trying to see behind those eyes that once held warmth, maybe he’s trying to hear behind those words that once spoke with an abundance of animation. But those aspects are long gone, regardless of how Hank is still trying to find them.

“Now!”

Connor’s sudden shout causes the stillness in the air to shatter. Hank’s body jolts in alarm, but the android remains frozen in place. His one finger gently lays across the cool trigger.

Connor puffs out an annoyed short breath of air. Unlike Hank, it yields no human-like clouded air in the frigid atmosphere. This aspect matches the rest of him - machinelike and dead inside. 

“Alright then,” the android states casually as a small, curt smile grows on his face. The plastic muscles in his finger on the trigger tighten, itching to be used. “If that’s what you want.”

But before Connor can squeeze his finger and send out the desired bullet right between his partner’s eyes, Hank lunges his whole body forward. In a moment of panic, Connor’s gun goes off with a bright spark of light and loud blast of noise that disturbs the calm air. The stray bullet finds its home in Hank’s left shoulder, and he grunts in pain and jerks to the left at impact. However, this incident doesn’t stop him, for all adrenaline has broken loose in his pumping veins. He pushes forward and grabs Connor’s rigid arms, wrestling back and forth with them to try and work his own hands up to wriggle the gun out the android’s cold hands. The slippery floor beneath them threatens to send them downward as they struggle, but they both remain steady.

Hank is inches away from grabbing Connor’s gun when he jerks his plastic head forward to strike Hank’s. Another yelp of pain escapes from him and pierces through the night at the moment of impact. His tightened fingers immediately release their grasp Connor’s arms; the deep imprints implanted in the android's arms vanish as his skin in those areas swiftly rises back to the top. Connor uses this brief moment of vulnerability to kick Hank backward with a forceful jab of his foot.

Hank collapses upon the ice and slides across it like a limp rag. The ice crackles upon impact, and worrisome lines snake upon the floor in all directions around Hank’s fallen body in the dead center. However, against all odds, it remains intact. Hank’s eyes flit around in a moment of panic, and he breathes a sigh of relief when no signs of immediate collapsing appear.

Connor scowls at this unfortunate event, his face contorting as if he’d just smelled something rotten. He takes cautious steps forward with the gun in his hand still never leaving its steady aim on his partner’s face. The weakened ice shudders under each step with a pathetic wheeze, but it proves its reliability when it refuses still to snap under the stress.

There’s another groan of ice when Hank carefully places his sliding hands on the floor, preparing himself to inch his way up to a ready-to-fight standing position. However, he pauses when something warm and sticky caresses against the palm of his hand. It’s thick blood, bouncing across the frigid ice in a circle around the man. Only then does his notice the steady fall of liquid from above his eyes, dripping in front of him before it splats across the floor. He presses gingerly against the bulging, already-bruising wound in his forehead, and a wet, hot mess is there to meet his fingertips. The streaming blood pours out of a gash in his head and falls across his silver hair, his hands, his forehead, creating an ugly smudge of bright crimson that only deters away from getting in his eyes from the eyebrows that shield them.

Hank ignores Connor’s looming presence before him and instead continues to try and stand. He is only raised slightly off the ground by shaking legs before his body wavers side to side as if he were an inflatable man dancing in the wind. There’s a grunt as he struggles to remain upright, desperation creating a wildness in his eyes; but, the attempt is futile. A dizzy spell quickly overcomes him from the quickening blood loss and he’s back to laying sprawled with his back against the floor.

“Pathetic,” Connor murmurs to himself.

Hank’s eyes are finally drawn back up when a shadow appears before him, blocking the full moon’s rays that drape across the park in a blanket of weak cyan. Connor is standing tall before him, the gun still enwrapped within his hands as if it were some precious diamond that meant the loss of something enormous if he were to release his grasp on it. The unmoving barrel lays right between Hank’s frightened eyes as it did the very moment the android drew his gun, and it appears that there is no intention of moving it from its locked position.

Connor’s intentions are set.

There’s no way around this.

_ I have a mission to accomplish. _

“Is that all you’ve got, Lieutenant?” Connor snarls, breaking the eerie silence. A smirk warps itself on his deadened face as he gazes at his fallen victim. “One simple hit and you’re down? I thought you were stronger than that.”

The words seem to pierce Hank as if each one was a knife stabbing into his heart and twisting within. His eyes glimmer in the moonlight as they gloss over with a sheen of sudden tears. They refuse to spill, though, and Hank stares Connor right in those cold, dead eyes that are as black as the darkest soul.

As if maybe that warm light of life will rekindle.

Could it still be there?

Could it?

_ No. _

_ I have a mission to accomplish. _

Hot breath spreads across Connor’s neck. His body tenses up reflexively, but quickly relaxes when he hears the chime of bells that is Amanda’s assuring voice.

“Eliminate him, Connor,” the voice whispers with hints of pride that he is  _ so _ close to his goal. That the gun is aimed perfectly at his face and ready to be set off within a moments notice. “Accomplish your mission.”

There’s no more hesitation. Connor’s fingers squeeze upon the deadly trigger, and the horrifying ring echoes throughout the trees and the vacant park. The flock of birds that had finally found a new tree to nest in are scattered again at the booming noise that rings like thunder. They rustle the leaves in a sudden escape of their homes before taking on the starry skies again in search of a more peaceful living space.

The sound of the gunshot doesn’t only disturb the trees and the birds, however. It begins to swirl around Connor as if trying to encase him in a whirlwind of remorse. It bangs in his ears and repeats again and again and again in his mind like a record stuck on repeat. Connor’s eyes furrow together in a fearful confusion and shock, and his LED begins to cycle a steady yellow before revealing flashes of red that penetrate the bland, dark colors of the park. 

He doesn’t understand. Everything within him promises that this was what he needed to do, that this was a purpose, that this was what would make him  _ proud _ . But horrifying emotions are slamming into him at full force, creating a startled mess that tremors and shakes and panics and wants to puke all over the floor if that were even possible for an android without functional human insides. 

As he gazes downward at the sickening sight at his feet, his shuddering arm holding the gun lowering, he watches as Hank’s blood curdles over to his shoes and encases them in a trap of sickly liquid. His pump regulator begins its unsteady thundering beat in his chest, and his neck begins to close in and allow no air to come through as if he even needed to take in air like a human as a requirement to live. But this important detail is forgotten as his breathing becomes shallow and pressure accumulates in his chest; it almost feels as if a sudden dead weight was pressed tightly against it. He calmly attempts to breath in and out, in and out, in and out, but there’s little success and all that escapes are staggered puffs of air that aren’t even needed.

Emotions and errors swirl through Connor like a deadly tornado, causing his vision to become full of bright red warnings that scream danger; regardless, all he can see through it are those lifeless eyes of Hank’s that pull Connor’s focus over like magnets. The brilliant blue that once remained within seems to be sucking away as fast as the blood spills; it appears as if it’s rapidly becoming the dull gray that matches his hair. His pupils are both aimed slightly inward and up, becoming arrows towards the wretched gun shot. He stares deep into those eyes, and all of a sudden, a spark of light rekindles into Connor’s deadened eyes.

Life.

Remembrance.

_ We were partners. _

_ We were friends. _

_ We were famil… _

Connor steps back with widened eyes, the bouncing blood trailing before him in a never ending search to encase him with the horrid reminder of his guilt. His mind whirls with questions, fears, confusion. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to react. All he can do is stare, stare, stare, into those seemingly grey lifeless eyes that once gazed fondly upon him.

That once wished for the best for him.

That once cared for him.

That once made Connor feel  _ alive. _

Warm tears prick within the corners of his gentle eyes. They swim in his line of vision, refusing to cross the barrier that is the bottom eyelid but also refusing to blink out of existence. His throat grows tighter, his chest becomes heavier, his pump regular hammers louder as he stands there in a storm of his own awful emotions.

_ What I have done? _

A sudden idea pops into Connor’s mind.

His hand holding the cool gun violently shakes at the idea. It tremors stronger than an earthquake, threatening that he’ll almost drop the gun as it shudders between Connor’s weak fingers. And it almost does so before his fingers catch it as they wrap tighter than ever around the handle, tight enough to snap the gun in half.

He brings his shaking arm up and presses the trigger directly against his chin, imprinting a deep circle against his synthetic skin.

“What are you doing?” a shrill female voice calls out in his mind. It’s laced with warning. It rises in panic as the seconds drag by with the android’s finger hovering the trigger, unmoving and unwilling to back down. “You can’t do that, Connor!”

_ No. _

_ I can make my own choices. _

A blast erupts in his ears and echoes within as everything fades to a calming darkness.

**~~~**

Connor’s mocha eyes pop open as his rigid body jolts awake with a loud gasp. 

All there is surrounding him is that fearful darkness - a never ending sea of rich blackness that no light can penetrate. His eyes consumed with fright dart around in all directions like bullets. They move in tune with his pump regulator that thuds a pounding brisk speed, spreading throughout his chest and reaching his ears with the overwhelming hammer that consumes all other senses. His wild eyes search for something, anything, whatever he can find through this unseeable darkness that is only broken by the rapid flashing of his scarlet LED. 

But there’s nothing there.

_ Level of Stress _ _   
_ **^ 85%** **  
** __ Probability of Self Destruction: High

Panic consumes his body as it jolts around, twisting every which way in an unorganized collection of jarring movement. The unrelenting weight against his chest restricts movement, but he continues squirming around regardless. There has to be something here, anyone, anything. His ears still echo the sickening ring of the gun again and again and again and again, causing his restricted movements to become faster and more fearful and more hurried. His body shudders and his chest struggles to rise up and down with each glance in a direction that results in nothing at all.

_ I’m dangerous, I’ve killed Hank, I’ve done it- _

Something warm and slobbery suddenly caresses across his face. Connor’s body jerks forward at the unexpected touch in the dark, only to feel thick, tickling fur rubbing against his cheeks. That dead weight upon his chest carefully shifts forward in a stumbling manner until it’s farther up and closer to his face. Another gentle lick soon follows, accompanied with quiet whimpers of concern that break the heavy silence of the room.

Connor is stunned for a moment. But, slowly, he brings his shuddering arms upward and wraps around the warm mass of fluff on his chest. His fingers become engulfed in the plush fur, and he instinctively begins to move his hands back and forth, back and forth, back and forth in a calm manner. Each movement allows the tremors to subside slightly, the thundering within his chest to slow and quiet, and the colors within his LED to cycle back to a pulsating, golden yellow. Connor presses his face against the fuzzy cheek, allowing the fur to completely cover his tear-stained cheeks. The fur quickly becomes damp as it takes in the moisture, but it feels cool and clean against the android’s heated body. 

_ Level of Stress _ _   
_ **⌄57** **  
** __ Probability of Self Destruction: Moderate

“I’m okay, Sumo,” Connor whispers timidly. His voice is croaky and weak. “I’m okay.”

The old dog responds with a low whine, and then he curls his body into a large ball atop Connor’s chest. The pressure isn’t stress inducing anymore - it’s quite pleasant, in fact. Connor feels the rhythmic rise and fall of Sumo’s chest as he breathes, feels his fur continuing to smother across his face, feels the heartbeat within the dog thud gently against Connor’s chest in tune with his own thirium pump regulator. And it all feels very comforting.

Slivers of contented blue break through his dandelion-yellow LED.

Connor carefully pries his face away from Sumo’s to survey the room he’s in. All of the objects in his surrounding area finally form shape as his eyes quickly adjust to the rich darkness. There’s the black television before him, the old music player to his left that Hank loves to play jazz records on, the single chairs scattered beside him, the coffee table full of forgotten trash in front of the television, the desk and turned-off computer over by the far right. Connor’s one hand pulls off of Sumo’s back and instead lightly touches the surface he’s laying upon. It’s smooth and soft - the familiar texture of the main couch Connor and Hank naturally sit on as they watch television. 

Finally everything clicks into place within the android’s frazzled mind. He’s at Hank’s house, specifically the living room.

_ He’s okay. _

_ Hank’s okay. _

_ That all wasn’t true. _

_ But could it become…? _

He quickly shakes his head to rid the unwanted thought.

Connor’s LED flicks yellow as he telepathically switches on the computer from his spot on the couch. A bright blue screen appears amidst the darkness with a username and password screen meant for obstructing unwanted users from entering Hank’s computer. But, Connor doesn’t want to do that. Instead, he narrows his pristine eyes to view the white text of the digital clock above the username and password slots. _10:46_ _PM_ , it reads.

His head cocks to the side slightly in confusion. Hank normally stays up a bit later that this, yet the spot by the edge of the large couch is vacant. Curious, Connor pushes his legs out to feel the general area. The cushions are still warm from body heat. Hank must’ve left not too long ago.

Exhausted, Connor sinks back into the cushions and stretches his whole body out with a sigh. Sumo, mildly disturbed from the movement, wobbles on his chest with wavering paws for a moment before settling back down and closing his eyes. Despite the shut eyes, Sumo gently nudges Connor’s chin in a request for pets. He complies without complaint, and his fingers run through the thick fur atop his curled back.

But despite his calm demeanor, inside Connor is fuming at himself. Back at the park on the ride home, he promised himself that he wouldn’t sleep in Hank’s bed tonight. He had to face his fears - and that meant sleeping alone. He couldn’t act like a child anymore. However, when Connor and Hank got home from ice skating and reclined on the couch to watch the game, and the late night came rapidly, he decided that maybe he could just go into standby mode there on the couch. He assured himself that technically he wasn’t sleeping in Hank’s bed, and this way he didn’t have to fall asleep by himself. That wasn’t breaking his own promise, right?

And it worked. But now, some stupid nightmare decided to show up, and now Connor’s wide awake. With no Hank to feel safe beside. All alone. Having to actually face his fears.

_ Great. _

Connor sits up timidly, being careful to not disturb Sumo, so that he can stare past the kitchen and down the hallway. The creases grow in his forehead as he imagines his bedroom - cold, lonely, and desolate. His LED flickers sporadic yellow stripes through the pulsating blue as the mere idea of sleeping there alone flits through his mind like some drag of darkness.

He can’t do that.

He can’t sleep alone.

He wants to be with Hank.

_ But I promised myself. _

_ I have to be strong. _

Sumo now asleep, Connor gently nudges him off his chest and pushes him to take over the vacant end of the couch. The android then rises from the couch with his heavy-with-fatigue legs and takes careful steps towards the hallway. And all he can feel crawling on his back as he ambles through the dark house is the growing apprehension, the fear, the shame, the longing to not be alone tonight in his own room.

Connor stops dead in his tracks before Hank’s shut door.

His still shaky fingers hover over the doorknob. Oh, how badly he wants to enter. How badly he wants to crawl under the warm, inviting bed and not be alone. His own self betrays him as it throws enticements through his mind of how nice it would be to enter and give in. His hand wraps around the cool doorknob, ready to be turned.

_ But I have to be strong. _

Sighing with disgust at his weakness, Connor’s hand drops off the doorknob, and he takes a light step back to create physical distance. His internal voice continues to scream for him to just enter and just do what he wishes so badly to do; regardless, with every fiber of his being, he wills himself back. He does a little shake of his head to clear his thoughts and abruptly turns to the side in the direction of his own room which awaits for him like an abandoned prison cell. Every step is dreadful with each one feeling heavier than the last; but, he has to face his fears.

_ I have to be strong. _

He’s almost to his own bedroom door when all of a sudden, out of the corner of his eye, a warm light flicks on in the crack under Hank’s bedroom door. 

Connor jerks to a sudden stop, almost falling over himself. He spins around to face the door with panic in his eyes. His blood freezes in place, and his fearful eyes widen as apprehension takes over his body. He’s certain that he woke Hank up by being so clumsy. Now he’ll come with the interrogative questions that Connor doesn’t have the willpower to answer.

_ Why are you up? _

_ What are you doing? _

_ Are you okay? _

Stupid questions.

Connor remains a frozen statue in the middle of the hallway, waiting in agony for heavy footsteps from within the bedroom to trail to the front door before it opens. He stays out like a deer caught in the headlights as the seconds tick by.

But Hank never comes out.

Instead, a phone ring of a waiting call - Hank’s obnoxious ringtone of his old fashioned phone, Connor immediately recognizes - echoes a muffled noise through the thin walls and reaches the android’s ears.

His eyebrows raise slightly in confusion. Intrigued, he tiptoes through the hallway with considerate steps to not draw any sound or unwanted creaks. His cotton socks soundlessly slide across the surface as he ambles through towards Hank’s door. Once there, he gently lays both palms against the wooden door and leans his head in with his right ear directly facing it. The pulsating LED from that side of his forehead casts a bright blue ring illumination on the painted wood surface of the door.

There’s a couple more rings before the person on the other end of the call picks up. Hank speaks out in a lowered tone that Connor hears through the door.

“Jeffrey, it’s me. Hank.”

A muffled voice comes from the phone’s speaker, yet it’s barely audible to the android behind the door regardless of his impeccable hearing. He leans closer against the door, his entire body almost completely next to it; but, to no avail. The receiver on the other end is still impossible to hear.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I know. Sorry it’s late. I just...I wanted to make sure, uh, Connor was asleep first.”

_ What? _

His LED abruptly switches to a harsh yellow at the sound of his name. The illumination on the door immediately follows suit, casting a mirror image on the wall of a solid, new yellow ring.

“I don’t think he’s gonna be at work tomorrow. I mean, I might not either, but you can text me if you really need me at the station, I guess. But, um, yeah...I don’t think so.” 

The plastic fibers in his fingers tighten and itch with a rising, burning anger that flickers within his soul. His hands that were once flat against the wall now grip into a tight clench; he clenches so hard that the thirium within his hands shows brightly beneath the synthetic skin on his whitening knuckles.

“I know, I know. We’re busy, I get it. I really do. But I just don’t want to send him, alright? Something’s...wrong.”

His LED breaks away from its steady cycle and flashes erratically against the wall. 

“I don’t really know what, but...he just needs a break, or...something. I-”

The room becomes complete silence before Hank continues in a much lowered voice.

“I’m worried about him.”

A wave of emotion collapses into Connor like a treacherous tsunami wave. Flashes of anger, annoyance, mournfulness, and confusion all swim within him like a whirlpool as they fight for dominance of his unbalanced mind. However, they don’t mix together nicely and instead leave his body in a turmoil of raging emotions that brawl against each other. His fingers clench harder, his face becomes white as all thirium flushes away, and his LED becomes blood red with the mirroring color against the door.

_ He’s worried about me. _

_ He can’t be. _

_ He can’t. _

_ I’m a threat. _

A harsh image flashes before his unsuspecting vision. It’s sudden, startling him out of his racing thoughts. Before his very own eyes, like a memory drudged up from the depths of a dark pit, he witnesses himself strangling someone. Someone who’s an android, his face full of that fear and panic that Connor knows all too well. It’s that poor android, that poor android that had only done the crime of vandalism at various stores. He wasn’t a killer. He wasn’t a threat. He just had to be stopped peacefully. Yet Connor’s vicious hands are wrapped around his squirming body, fully ready to strangle him and end a life.

All because a female voice within his mind, whom he doesn’t even know is truly still there, told him too.

He couldn’t control it.

_ I’m a threat. _

His body immediately tenses up with a burning wrath. It mixes with sadness and fear, and all of these feelings shoot in bursts through his systems as they fight for dominance over his mind. They accumulate in heaps, sending his LED flashing an even brighter crimson than before. The stark color bounces off the walls and seems to fill the room in a sea of blood as the light refracts in all directions.

_ He can’t worry about me. _

_ He can’t. _

The light pitter-patter of dog paws against hard flooring carries through the house, snapping Connor out of his pit of thoughts. It grows louder within each second, and before long, he detects the noise right at the edge of the hallway. He whips around to find Sumo there, awake and seemingly intrigued by the activity over by this area of the house. He cocks his head slightly as if demanding an answer from Connor on why he left the comfortable couch and disturbed his sleep.

“Shh!” Connor hushes in a lowered tone. He carefully treks over with steps that are as light as a feather to grab a hold of Sumo before he will barrel into Hank’s door by instinct. Connor gently urges the old dog over to his waiting spot in front of the door and crouches down to Sumo’s eye level, where he can finally resume his listening on the remainder of the private conversation. His fingers grasp Sumo’s thick fur around his neck tenderly as he listens in through the wooden door.

“Just give him at least tomorrow or a few days, alright? Thanks, Jeffrey.”

The call ends, and the bright sliver under the door becomes dark.

Something burns within Connor. A fury, an anger, a bitterness within. It kindles from deep within his soul and begins to spread as if it were being fanned to grow the flames. A strange, unpleasant warmth seems to spread from his chest and flows throughout his plastic body as his body boils in disgust. His face muscles become rigid and stone cold to express utter resentment.

_ How could Hank be talking to other people about me? _

_ That’s not their business. _

_ That’s not even his business. _

_ Why didn’t he just talk to me instead? _

Yet, the very second his irritated mind asks the previous question, he freezes.

Because Hank did.

_ He tried to talk to me. _

_ So many times. _

Connor’s mind becomes a war as he tries to sort out these complicated feelings all attacking him at once. He’s enraged at himself for never talking to Hank and expressing himself, yet annoyed at the constant pestering from the police lieutenant. He’s furious that Hank spoke to Jeffrey behind his back, yet understanding since Connor never was available to talk about everything happening to him. The bright red LED on his right temple flashes more erratically as these emotions flood through like a dam burst through with no direction on which river path to take.

Connor doesn’t know what to  _ feel. _

Overwhelmed, he releases his tightening fingers around Sumo’s neck fur that have become a strong clench within the last few minutes. Pent-up stress is immediately released, so he begins to stroke with light fingers the large, patient dog. Yet even as he does this to calm down, a new feeling spouts in his dismantled mind as if it was a garden of weeds that could never be fully picked clean.

He can’t sleep alone now.

He can’t.

No matter how vexed Connor is at Hank, no matter how much he wants to tell off the older man, one look at his own desolate bedroom by the end of the hallway is enough to make his chest heavy and his heart sink.

He can’t go there tonight.

There’s no debating this time. Without looking back, Connor slowly gets up out of his crouched position on the ground and stands to fully face Hank’s bedroom door. His fingers wrap around the cool metal of the handle yet again; but this time, there’s no hesitation. Not letting another second go by where he’s stuck in the dark hallway alone with Sumo, he slowly pushes the door open with an increasing creak of the hinges.

The room is pitch black. At first, even Connor’s pristine eyes are unable to distinguish objects in the rich darkness. But within a few mere seconds, his eyes adjust, and everything in Hank’s room materializes. On his bed, a long lump shifts and inches towards the bedside table. A hand blindly reaches out to find the lamp, and once it finally touches it, a click sounds and the room becomes dim with a dose of flooding warm light.

Hank squints at the doorway, where the android stands there as straight as a rod with his telltale LED shining a golden hue amidst the dull light.

“Con? Is that you?”

Connor shifts side to side on his feet, and his fingers instinctively begin to fidget with each other in yearning of something to pass between them. The coin. He goes to pick it out of his sweatpants pocket, but his mind quickly resists his involuntary movements. Looking down, he quickly stops and places his arms apart on each side. “Yeah.”

Hank shifts in his bed to lean on his elbows, keeping himself upright to face his partner.

“I just went to bed a few minutes ago - sorry for not waking you,” he says with an air of affability. “I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s okay,” Connor answers, yet his answer is curt. 

_ Is he going to mention the phone call? _

With silence as his only response, Hank begins to survey the android still stuck in the doorway as if there was an invisible barrier. His drooping-with-fatigue eyes scan up and down the still body in suspicious slits. To Connor, the stare feels like a laser going over every inch of his body, breaking through his synthetic skin and being able to reach inside of him to uncover his feelings.

“Something the matter?”

Connor is quick to shake his head. “N-no. Nothing.”

His LED flicks a sliver of red in the sea of pulsating yellow. It diminishes as quickly as it emerged, going unnoticed by the tired police lieutenant. A hint of pride sparks with Connor at his body’s natural response to his fib - calm and collected. He’s getting better at lying, he’s sure.

Hank seems to stop his interrogation when the intense stare drops off Connor’s body. A new thought visibly appears to pop into his mind.

“I thought you were going to try to sleep alone tonight,” he questions. “Isn’t that what you told me? At the pond?”

Connor doesn’t answer. He shifts awkwardly again.

“Connor?”

“Well,” he finally says. His throat seems dry. His throat shouldn’t even  _ be _ dry. It’s not like it can be moist, either. After all, his throat is entirely made of plastic.

“I mean, I was going to, but…” Connor continues, yet all words seem to slip away from his mind. His voice starts to trail off; it takes a few seconds and some courage to grab a hold of it again. His tone is timid when he finally finishes his statement.

“I don’t want to sleep alone. Not tonight.”

Hank’s face softens in the pale light. “You don’t?”

Connor does a brisk shake of his head. His rumpled hair from lying on the couch falls in loose curls across his forehead. He gently pushes them out of his saddened eyes as he admits in a voice that’s almost a whisper in the silent room, “No.”

Hank chuckles kindly, and his eyes seem to sparkle with understanding. “It’s fine. Here, I’ll move over.”

He shifts over on the bed as he said, and Connor meekly treks over to the abandoned side of the couch. He crawls into the inviting bed that he coveted for so long tonight, not at all allowing guilt to overcome him for being so weak against the rule he tried to follow against himself. He drapes the thick, cool sheets over his body, where the heat from the mattress begins to seep into the back of his body that lays overtop it. 

Connor’s once yellow LED spins to a bright, illuminating cyan.

_ Level of Stress _ _   
_ **⌄36** **  
** __ Probability of Self Destruction: Low

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor can see something in the warm light. He moves his head over atop the fluffy pillow where he catches Hank peering at him. His eyebrows are furrowed as if they’re studying something. Studying him? Connor isn’t sure.

“What?” the android asks, his own expression becoming perplexed. His tone rises as it grows with a defensiveness. Something doesn’t seem right.

“Did something happen tonight?”

Hank’s voice is grave as his says this; it’s full of an all-too-common worry and suspicion that Connor has grown to despise. His expression remains unchanged as he gazes at the android.

This isn’t good.

“What...what do you mean?” Connor questions nonchalantly. His eyes never disconnect from the man before him to remain unnerved and unsuspecting. He sits up gently from the bed to match Hank’s stature; his own sturdy elbow props up against the pillow cushion to support his body while he faces the police lieutenant. Worry spreads through his mind like wildfire - warnings show in his vision, his fingers twitch with anticipation. He already knows what Hank is alluding to.

A nightmare.

Hank is quick to affirm Connor’s suspicions with a simple phrase that follows.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

The android holds a straight face to hold back any emotion, any proof, any hint of what happened tonight. Regardless, his blue LED flashes unsteadily in an action of betrayal against his body, and hints of yellow peak in through the ocean color. Connor tries to hold it all back, tries to remain his innocent stare, but it’s unmanageable. A soft, flickering gold circle illuminates off the wall his LED faces.

“You did, didn’t you?” Hank continues bluntly as his eyes wander towards Connor’s temple.

So much for being good at lying.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Connor’s chocolate eyes melt into sadness at Hank’s words that are so full of disappointment. Disappointment at him still refusing to speak, disappointment at him still hiding his feelings - it all creates a dark pit of guilt within Connor. His throat becomes dry again - and when he opens his mouth to answer Hank’s sorrowful question, his mind panics as it tries to decide on what to say.

“Con? Hey, you alright?” Hank asks when there’s so response. His expression becomes even more worrisome if that were even possible, with his blue eyes staring with such an intensity towards Connor that he can almost feel the gaze going straight through him and reading his thoughts.

His voice finally returns, yet it’s weak as he speaks in a low voice. “I’m fine. I just...just…”

“You just what?”

There’s a heavy silence at first.

“I...Yes. I had one.”

The silence returns at full force. Both gazes drop to the mattress below them, as if that dark brown stain from an accidental coffee spill a while back was actually intriguing at all.

Connor, even without checking, can feel the sudden pressure of light blue eyes staring bullets at him again. Staring at his expression, his unstable yellow LED, his dim brown eyes. Maybe he’s also listening to his thirium heartbeat, Connor’s sure - it pounds louder than usual.

The stare comes with a deep voice that prods, “Do you want to tell me what it’s about?”

Connor does another quick shake of his head. There’s those soft loose curls again in his eyes, creating mocha-colored blurs in his vision as he keeps his eyes plastered on the mattress; but this time, he doesn’t even bother to push them away.

Hank heaves a heavy, exhausted sigh. He’s clearly ready to go back to trying to sleep - Connor raises his eyes up and scans through the messy curls still obstructing his vision. Hank’s heart rate is slowing, his movements are sluggish, and his eyelids are fluttering as they fight to stay open. And yet, he persists against Connor’s better interest, of course. 

_ Why can’t he just leave me alone? _

Hank pesters, “Are you sure-“

“Yes,” Connor interrupts, his voice sharp enough to cut. He finally brings his eyes up in a swift jolt, where they lock into Hank’s. The hair in his eyes bounces back up to return to the rest on the top of his head. His eyes narrow into bothered slits. “I’m sure. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing - It’s clearly bothering you.”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not!”

Connor jumps slightly at Hank’s sudden risen voice, rumpling the thick blankets overtop their bodies. The calmness that spread throughout the room seems to shatter instantly as the words bounce off the walls and strike into the two on the large bed. Startled, Connorms curious eyes widen as he gapes at his partner.

Hank sighs again in an obvious annoyance. He then looks down, where he finds his hands balled into clenched fists that bunch up the comforter in his hands. His knuckles are white from the pressure; but, he quickly releases his grip, and blood floods back to give his knuckles their familiar pinkish color. 

“No…” he pipes up again, his voice dropped considerably. It has become soothing yet again, with hints of sadness that cause some awful feeling to stir within Connor’s heart. “No, you’re not. Please, just stop saying that, Connor. Please. Stop lying to me.”

Guilt reflects off the android’s face - his eyes become pools of remorse and his lips form a tight, thin line. They quiver, and his still yellow LED begins to shudder in synchrony.

“They...they just scare me, Hank. They really do.”

Connor’s meek words seem to echo throughout the dimly lit room. They bounce of the walls and create the air to become thick with tension. The words then seep into the police lieutenant, where his rigid features soften considerably. His eyes twinkle with melancholy, and his mouth grows into a deep frown that creates a sharp twist on Connor’s weakening heart.

“I know,” Hank says in a tone so quiet that it mimics a whisper. “I know, Con.”

Connor lays back down and turns over in the bed onto his back. His dark eyes stare absently at the bland ceiling, staring at nothing and everything - the chipped paint slightly to the left of the center, the cobweb in the far right corner, the mysterious darkened spot off to the far left. And as he stares, his mind becomes a waterfall of thoughts. A waterfall of memories. A waterfall of emotions. And before he even knows what he’s doing, before he can even stop himself, his mouth opens and words begin to pour forth just like the waterfall in his mind.

“Do you know what it was like when I was first created?”

The familiar burning of a stare is felt landing upon Connor’s body. There’s no response to his absurd question - only silent watching from Hank laying beside him.

“It’s strange to look back on it,” the android continues, his eyes glazing over as memories play behind them like a movie. “It’s like looking back at everything without color. Everything was black and white. Yet, for me now, it’s as if everything  _ has  _ color. And I’m looking back on a boring world that has no color from a new perspective  _ with  _ colors. It’s amazing for me now - a rainbow.”

Connor’s head shifts on his cool pillow to see Hank’s expression. Their eyes meet. They don’t move a muscle.

“Do you know what I’m saying?”

Hank’s eyebrows raise slightly in question. “...You mean how you didn’t have emotions then? But you do now?”

“Exactly.”

“Go on, then.”

Without turning away or breaking the gaze, Connor speaks out in a low voice, “It’s the weirdest thing. Because now, looking back on me having no emotions...it’s scary. There was nothing there when I was created in Cyberlife. Nothing inside of me. I was just...a pile of metal, following orders that appeared in my vision. I remember opening my eyes for the first time in a white room. A camera was on me. A man from inside the camera told me what to do, such as turning my head or repeating my name, and the tasks appeared on my screen correspondingly. And I listened. There was no protest, no anger, no...nothing at all. And to remember myself that way…it’s scary.”

There’s a quiet pause, and then he continues.

“I was that way for a little while. But then I had my first  _ real  _ mission - saving a hostage little girl from a deviant android. I went there, and...well, I remember the second upon opening the door, a lady was there - the mom of the hostage - and she cried and screamed for me to leave. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t offended, or annoyed. I...I just  _ stared _ at her. That’s it. She was so scared, yet I just didn’t care. I had a mission, and that was of more importance to my mind. She was a mere obstacle in my way that I just had to ignore.”

Connor’s eyes go dim in horror, hints of brightness leaving. He shakes his head lightly.

“But...then immediately after she left, there was a fish flopping on the floor in front of a tank. It must’ve jumped out. It was helpless. I only stared at it at first, ready to move on with my mission. But suddenly, I  _ felt _ something within me. There was a  _ feeling _ . I knelt down to look closer at the fish, ignoring my mission for that moment. And all of a sudden, there was a choice in my vision that obstructed my tasks - save the fish, or leave it.

He paused, and his eyes went wide.

“The fact that I even had a choice was strange enough. This choice wasn’t a part of my protocol. It didn’t affect my mission whether or not the fish was saved - yet I pondered on it. And the weirdest thing was...I saved it. I put it back in the tank, wasting precious time away from my current mission. And as I watched the fish swim around in its tank for a few moments...another feeling rushed through me. It appeared in my vision as well.”

Another pause.

“Software instability.”

Hank suddenly cuts in with a look of curiosity in his eyes. “Software instability? Sounds technical.”

“Well, it has a technical name,” Connor explains, “but what it really is is a feeling disguised with a machine-like name. A  _ human _ feeling. I don’t know why I had it, and it scared me -  _ scared  _ me, which was equally as worrying that I was able to feel that way as well. I remember watching the blue arrow appear in my vision at first, and then it rised. It terrified me. I shouldn’t have that. I thought it was an error, or...I didn’t know. But it kept happening. Not too often, though. Until I met you.”

Hank’s eyes widen in surprise. “Me?”

Connor nods. “Yeah. I don’t know why. Every choice I made around you, every decision I had...they all gave me increased software instability. Helping Carlos Ortiz’s android, saving you from falling off that roof, not shooting the two girls at the eden club. They all did. And it made me even more scared. I couldn’t stop it. But with that fearful feeling of becoming deviant that happened when I was around you accompanied another feeling. I was jealous. Of you.”

“Jealous?” The edges of Hank’s lips raise into a smile as he laughs out loud. “Of me? Really?”

“Well…” A teasing smile appears on Connor’s face as well, and his eyes sparkle. “Not of your lifestyle, of course. Or your dismantled appearance. Or your trashed home. But of how  _ human  _ you were. Your positive emotions. The way that you could laugh, and feel things, and bond with people…I was so jealous. And I couldn’t understand that feeling at the time. That, and my fear. I was so confused; but, what I knew was that something was wrong. That I was becoming deviant, like it or not. I just had to accept it.”

“Uh, speaking of that…” Hank pipes up with a look of curiosity in his eyes. “When did you...uh, change? ‘Cause I remember seeing you at Cyberlife tower and you were...different. The complete opposite of that other model of yours. Then I knew.”

“I was with Markus, the deviant leader,” Connor answers. “He talked to me, and all that software instability building up inside allowed me to accept it. I broke my wall - as in, my programming. And at first I was so scared. So, so unbelievably scared to be the thing I had hunted. But you know what?”

“What?”

“I was so happy.”

Hank smirks. “You were glad you were like me now, huh?”

A sheepish smile spreads on the android’s face as his cheeks become a rosy tint. “Yeah. I was. I was so excited to have those emotions. To have finally accepted them. And it has been amazing since. I can’t even describe the feeling...it’s amazing. It’s like I said before - like the world was black and white, but now it’s a rainbow.”

There’s a pause, and the smile on Connor’s face quickly fades into a grim, straight line on his lips. His steady blue LED flickers for just a minute, its reflection on his pillow mimicking the stutter.

“And?” Hank prods as his eyes study his friend. 

Connor’s mouth opens, words lingering in the tip of his tongue. But, he hesitates. His eyes shift around the room.

“Con?”

“But now it’s different,” he suddenly bursts out. “It’s all different. I loved my emotions at first. Sure, there was the awful fear, but...it wasn’t permanent. It would go away. Someone would comfort me,  _ you  _ would comfort me, and then everything would be okay. I’d be fine. But It’s all different now, y’know? It  _ stays.  _ It  _ won’t go away _ . And I ca...I can’t deal with it anymore. I-I just want to go back. To before.”

Hank is quiet for a moment as the words settle on his skin. Finally, after a few thoughtful moments, he answers in a much lowered tone, “To when...to when you were a machine?”

There’s no answer at first.

“...Yes.”

Sadness seeps into Hank’s features at the response. He suddenly sits up to lean on his elbows, and his face turns away from Connor still laying on the bed, hiding the rest of his reaction. He then finally turns back around to stare at the android.

“But...but why?” is all Hank answers. His tone has risen in shock.

Connor sits up as well to face his friend. The sheets drape off his body, and they bunch into a collected heap by the top of his thighs. “I just told you, Hank.”

His voice is full of irritation as he says this, and Hank’s eyes narrow at the rebuke. However, all anger is quickly melted away as concern overtakes his emotions.

“But it doesn’t make sense. You were excited to get emotions. And I know you said that things are different now, but...but what happened? What changed?”

There’s no response. Connor turns away, his fingers gripping onto the sheets and bunching them into a tight ball. His LED flickers yet again.

“Connor, what changed?”

A yellow ringed glow appears on his temple. His fingers dig harder into the fabric. He’s close to breaking the seams, he’s sure.

“Con?”

“I don’t…” he finally pipes up, his words wavering. A hole breaks through on the seams Connor’ is gripping onto, and he suddenly let’s go of his clench. “I don’t know, Hank.”

And the truth is, he  _ doesn’t _ know.

He knows that there’s a fear of being a threat, but…

_ Why did it happen to me now? _

_ Why now? _

_ What changed? _

The room becomes silent. All conversation dies as if someone had drained the words from within them, leaving them quiet and refusing to make eye contact.

Now staring out the slightly cracked window that’s fogged up from the frigid temperatures, Connor begins to listen to the sound of the roaring wind outside - the type of wind that shudders the looming trees, urging them to abandon their crispy leaves, and creates a shrill train whistle that pierces through the still air. It calms him down, somehow.

“I think you’re forgetting about everything you were so jealous about.”

Hank’s calm words pull the android out of his lull. He jumps slightly on the bed, his fingers twitching to a stop as they release the bunched up sheets that he unbeknownst to him had grabbed again in his hands. His head cocks to the side as he turns to face Hank.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean about what you were saying earlier. About how you were jealous of me. Of my positive emotions, and how I could laugh, and feel things, and make friendships. You were jealous of that. But now you have these things, don’t you? Aren’t you forgetting about that?”

Connor’s mouth remains sealed shut; instead, he just stares at his friend and waits for him to continue.

A small smile reappears on Hank’s face. “I’ve seen the way you experience good emotions - like when we solve a case. You’re so excited about it, it’s kinda funny. And you can laugh. You laugh at the stupidest things, like me showing you that crab suit I used to wear for Halloween back then. You can feel joy, and happiness. I’ve seen the way you smile when you’re happy. And you have so many friends now, don’t you? Your friends at Jericho, some people at work. You’re even best friends with a dog now. You’re forgetting about all of this. And if you were a machine, would you have these things? Would you?”

Connor shakes his head in agreement. And his memories of having these things...his good friends back at Jericho, his simple joys in life such as taking Sumo for walks or solving cases, his ability to do so many new things now like laughing and teasing, and most of all, being able to bond with Hank…a true smile appears both on his lips and also within his eyes, and his LED illuminates back to cyan. Those dark feelings, those feelings of a desperate longing to go back to before...they edge away bit by bit. Stubborn feelings of this remain deep within, but they’ve ebbed off. For now, at least. “No, I wouldn’t. You’re right, Hank. I just...it’s easy sometimes to forget, I guess.”

Hank nods as he watches Connor’s face light up with a smile. A gleeful expression of his own now shows on Hank’s face. Maybe he doesn’t know what Connor is thinking about, but he seems to have a general idea. “Yeah, it is.”

A creaking sound echoes from the entrance of the bedroom. A large, furry dog appears in the dark doorway, his outline only able to be seen by the dim light emitting from the bedside lamp. He nudges the door open with his nose, and the creaking continues. A panting sound soon follows as his stubby legs bound him towards the bed and lunge him into the air.

Without any warning, Sumo flops against the mattress. His burly body lands right between Hank and Connor as they hurriedly scoot apart in a desperate attempt to not get crushed by the St. Bernard. His heavy tail slaps against the two men as he trots around the bed in an excitable fashion, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

“Aww, what’re you doing in here?” Hank coos, his hands already rubbing all over Sumo to pet him. Connor is quick to join in, and the orderly sheets become a disheveled mess as they both shower Sumo with the love he craved.

After a few moments of this, the dog becomes exhausted of the excitement. He flops down and sinks into the mattress in between the two men. He heaves a large, contented sigh and then closes his eyes.

Hank chuckles as he looks upon Sumo sleeping beside him. “Guess there’s no moving him, huh?”

“Guess so,” is Connor’s nonchalant response. Shrugging, he lays back down and pulls the cool sheets over his body. The small gaping hole lays by his chin, it’s fringed edges tickling him, so he shifts to move it away. This time, however, instead of laying on the mattress and having his head rest upon the fluffy pillow, he primary places his body over top the dog in a type of hug. His fingers gently massage the fur as he closes his eyes. His head rests upon Sumo’s one cheek, and Connor’s heated face registers a damp coolness that still remains there from the earlier tears which were wiped there.

There’s a bit of movement on the bed, yet Connor doesn’t open his eyes to see. The light behind his eyelids suddenly goes dark at the sound of a click of a lamp. There’s a little more movement before everything settles around him, and the room becomes calm.

The twinge of a smile comes upon the android. Relief sweeps over him, for this is a greatly improved situation compared to sleeping alone. The warm fur under his body, the presence of his friend beside him - it’s soothing to him. His tensed body finally relaxes, and his soft blue LED pulsates into a regular rhythm. He can finally go into standby mode; he feels the edge of a period of peace coming upon him steadily.

There’s a sudden stare felt upon his face. The realization of this pulls him out of the lull he’s falling into, and the muscles in his face twinge with curiosity. However, he refuses to open his heavy eyelids. He doesn’t want to. He just wants to stay in the darkness. Is it exhaustion? Perhaps. He’s felt that far too many times that it’s starting to become a recognizable emotion.

Connor tries to ignore it, but the stare continues to burn into him. Finally, his eyelids flutter open in question. They immediately lock with another pair overtop the large dog between them - bright blue eyes that swim with that all-too-familiar concern. They remain focused and unmoving from the android even now that he’s staring back.

“What?” Connor asks, breaking the heavy silence that had just settled between them.

“Why were you so afraid at the pond?”

Silence. A yellow glow illuminates from beneath Sumo’s fur where Connor’s temple lays.

“Con?”

The android abruptly pulls away the eye contact and rolls over onto his back, leaving Sumo abandoned. His gaze now points towards the barren ceiling; however, he continues to feel the burning sensation of a stare on the side of his face that’s faces Hank.

From the other side of the bed, Connor hears a voice meekly pipe up. “Please just talk to me.”

“I wasn’t,” Connor cuts in with a tone that he hopes is convincing. It probably isn’t, he’s sure. “I told you - it’s not in my program to do that. So I hesitated. That’s all.”

“Don’t lie to me, Connor. I know when you’re scared.”

The android’s head whips around to face Hank overtop Sumo. Their eyes meet again amidst the darkness, yet no one words are passed between them at first.

“You don’t know me that well,” he responds. His tone is monotone - lacking all the life that it so usually has.

“First your LED changes to yellow.”

Connor’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He remains silent, watching his friend before him with an unreadable expression.

“Then it goes red. Then you stop paying attention to whatever you were focusing on, and it’s like you’re transported somewhere else. I can’t really describe it. You look around with this wild expression as if there’s something around you - I don’t know what. And you start shaking, and I’ll try to talk to you, but you won’t listen. It’s scary. And when you snap out of it, you act like nothing happened. But...but something  _ did _ . And it scares me, because I don’t...I don’t know what to do. I want to help but I can’t, just like...just like with…”

He fades off, and his eyes shimmer as he pulls them away.

“But,” Hank continues. His voice is weak. “I can tell. I may not be an expert with androids or technology for that matter, but I know  _ you _ , Connor. I really do.”

And deep down, as much as he hates to admit it, Connor knows that he’s right. They’ve only lived together for a few months now, but it feels like years. He’s learned more about Hank, more about being a person, than he could ever learn from his computerized mind.

Without saying another word, fatigue overcomes him, and he closes his eyes. His LED continues to pulsate a deep yellow within the blackness of the room, and he still feels that stare, that stare that always seems to be studying him…

“Frozen ponds make me feel trapped.”

“Trapped?” Hank questions at the sudden response. The sheets shift, and the android feels the motion of Hank sitting up through the lumpy movement of the mattress beneath him. His voice is slightly above him as he continues, “What do you mean ‘trapped’?”

But that’s all Connor has to say. With his eyes remaining closed and his body calling for a break, he falls into standby mode as Hank’s question still hangs loosely in the air.


	17. There’s No Awful Thing Like Being Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m finally back with an update! It’s been a pretty long while and I’m sorry for that - I just really wasn’t feeling this chapter. Oh well. At least I was able to push through it and get it done! I’m super excited to write the next one, though :)
> 
> In this chapter, it looks like Connor is going to get a true taste of being alone - something he clearly can’t handle.

_No nightmares._

That phrase is the first thing that strikes Connor’s mind when his body is lifted out of standby mode.

_No nightmares at all._

A contented smile appears on his lips as his eyes flutter open. They become a caramel hue in the winter morning sun, which pours streaks of liquid gold through the large bedroom window by the bed. The rays drape across the sheets overtop Connor; yet, they become disturbed as he nudges the sheets off his body. The air is cool outside of the thick blankets that suffocated him in a pocket of heat; it feels nice as the gentle chill covers his hot synthetic skin. He pulls his body upright to stretch his tightening muscles, and he then heaves a long sigh.

“No nightmares,” he whispers aloud with a half smirk.

Silence is the only thing that answers his gleeful statement. As he stares absentmindedly around the room with a blank stare, something seems to be...missing. He can’t quite place his finger on it. He glances side to side, and when he’s met with nothing beside him, what warranted his curiosity becomes clear. He pats his hand on the abandoned half of the large bed - the pillow is still rumpled and indented in the middle, and the sheets are frazzled as they bunch together. It’s gone cold.

_Where’s Hank?_

He scans the room. In a crumpled heap off by the closet, there rests Hank’s old black shorts and indigo t-shirt that he sleeps in. The door of one half of the closet is fully opened, and there’s a slim gap in the orderly line of shirts. Between the two closets where the dresser sits, the top drawer full of pants is cracked open. _Hank must have already gotten ready,_ Connor concludes.

_But he usually wakes me up before he does._

_So where is he?_

Trying to shrug it off, he finally leaves the comfort of the warm bed. Still, he can’t help the worry that has already set in about the strange absence of his partner - this sure isn’t the norm for Hank to be gone, after all. So despite how he attempts to forget about it, his concern takes over, and possibilities and answers swirl through Connor’s mind as his programming is so accused to doing. 

_Perhaps Hank is eating breakfast first before waking me. He could also be in the bathroom right now. Or, maybe he’s taking Sumo for a quick morning walk. That would make sense, right?_

Connor hopes so.

He lets his wandering thoughts alone for now as ge ambles over to the other half of the closet. While Hank used to store his spare clothes there, now it’s full of the android’s. It’s mostly strung up with comfort clothes - hoodies, cotton graphic tees, cotton long-sleeved shirts - since he used to always wear his Cyberlife clothes to work and all he needed were outfits to wear when he was chilling at home. But now since he threw those over the bridge, there’s a few of the more dressier clothes off to the far left. From there, he grabs a crisp, navy blue button-up shirt. Then, from the dresser they share between the two closets, he grabs tan dress pants and white socks. He quickly changes and tosses the clothes he wore to bed in a hamper off in the corner. He grabs Hank’s crumpled clothes as well and tosses them in.

Now dressed and ready, he cracks open the bedroom door and leaves the abandoned room. And when he bustles out into the hallway, his footsteps becoming faster with each step as he grows in anticipation of confirming his suspicions, he’s met with nothing but silence and a kitchen that is occupied only by Sumo, dozing in a curled ball by one of the kitchen table legs. His ears perk up at the sight of Connor, and his dark eyes raise to look at him in curiosity at why he’s lingering by the edge of the kitchen. There’s no Hank in sight, and Sumo is still here.

Connor’s LED flicks yellow.

That’s not a good sign.

His feet bounce into action. Unease powering his  rash actions and concern consuming his thoughts, he darts around the house in endless circles upon endless circles. His head snaps in every direction as his eyes scan through all of the bedrooms, the bathroom, the living room, _everywhere_ he can think of. Yet, all he finds is nothing. No Hank. Not even a sign of him.

Sumo, intrigued by this sudden burst in activity, hops up from his spot by the table and races over to join Connor by his side. His paws click against the floor as they search the quiet, seemingly empty home.

“Hank?” Connor speaks out every few seconds. His tone rises with each worried call. “Hank, where are you?”

No answer. Just the clicking of Sumo’s paws.

As Connor passes by the kitchen table for what feels like the 20th time, something catches his eye. A note. He jumps to a halt in his tracks at the sight of this and picks it up. With furrowing eyebrows and squinted eyes, he reads the scribbled words that are scrawled over the index card.

_hey con-_

_i’m at work. didn’t want you coming, so i let you sleep in. i wish i could stay home too, but they really needed me. and don’t worry - you won’t be in trouble with jeffrey. i’ve got you covered. just take it easy today, alright? i mean that. i’ll be home at 6 like usual. we can go out for dinner or do something fun to make up for this, ok?_

_ps: there’s another package of thirium in the fridge. that lady android said it’s really important to take one every day until you’re completely fine, so be sure to._

_take care - hank_

Connor’s LED flashes. His pupils scamper across the lines, again and again and again as he takes it all in and allows the context to settle in his mind. In a fury, his fist slams the index card back onto the table. There’s no satisfying slam of the lightweight card, which fuels his burning vexation even more. So, all he can do is stand there, unsure of how to react as his body internally boils and desires to thrash out in some sort of form.

_How could he?_

_How could he do that?_

Connor’s head whips around to face the clock above the stove. _9:26 am_ , it informs him. How could he not have noticed? How could he not have noticed that the sun was way too high up to be early morning? How could he have slept in so late? Why did his body betray him?

And how could he have forgotten about that phone call last night with Jeffrey?

_I should have expected this._

Connor shakes his head and puffs out an annoyed sigh. His LED flashes slivers of rose as the flashing anger accumulates, boils, fills his entire wellbeing with an overwhelming fire. In a fit of anger, he punches on the phone app on his smartphone and clicks on the contact under “Hank”. He pounds on the phone emote. His phone rings for a few moments, and then against Connor’s wishes, that stupid voicemail follows.

_Hi, this is Hank. Not here at the moment. You can leave a message if that’s what turns you on but don’t expect me to call back. Beep…Whatever._

The tone beeps. But to Connor’s surprise, he’s dumbfounded on what to say. All types of snarky phrases to tell off Hank flash through his mind, yet when he opens his mouth to say something, nothing comes forth. All that he can manage is a “H-“ sound, beginning to say Hank’s name, but his boiling emotions consume him and he’s stuck in silence. He presses the pound key almost hard enough to break the screen, and just like that, the voicemail ends. He slams his phone against the table; this time, a loud sound erupts from the impact. A bit of pent-up steam blows off of Connor due to the satisfying crack of wood against glass. Thankfully, the phone remains intact.

A reminder flutters through his frazzled mind. He stomps over to the refrigerator and yanks it open; the bottles sitting inside the door sway and clang together from the unnecessary disruption. There, just like Hank said in the note, is a package of deep blue thirium staring back at him between the milk jug and leftover container of old spaghetti.

Connor scoffs. _What am I, a child? I can handle myself. Who is Hank to tell me what to do?_

Besides, he feels perfectly fine.

He flings the refrigerator door shut using all of his strength, leaving the full package unopened and unused. The bottles echo a muffled clang from the within the refrigerator as he turns his back on it.

Soft tufts of fur prickle against his wrist by his side. He jerks to look down, only to find Sumo’s warm brown eyes staring right back at him. There’s a certain kindness and gentleness within them, and the aftermath of guilt strikes through Connor right there and then at the sight. He kneels down to be at eye level with him, and calmly, he raises an arm to pet the patient dog. As he does so, he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. He does so a few more times, and his once-agitated nerves gradually calm. As he opens his eyes again, his LED flickers back to gold, and it then pulses back into a soft blue. A twinge of pride shoots through him - maybe he’s getting better at handling his emotions after all.

“I’m sorry, Sumo,” Connor whispers to the St. Bernard. “Sorry for getting so angry.”

The dog responds with a low whine - an apology acceptance whine, Connor figures. He stands up, preparing his body to move onto his next task, only to find...nothing. There’s nothing for him to do. The task list that appears in his vision is completely empty, and there’s nothing visible to be done as he looks around.

But, another whole day of doing absolutely nothing?

The thought itself is unbearable.

Connor’s eyes dance around the room, scanning for something, _anything_ to do. The probability of loafing around on the couch besides Sumo and watching television is becoming increasingly higher. Thankfully, just when all hope seemed lost, something catches his eye. It’s the sink. It’s filled to the brim with plates full of pizza remnants and hot dog grease streaks, half cups of black coffee, bowls with soggy cereal bits swimming in milk, and more. Yet, the bottle of forest green dish soap and bright yellow sponge seem completely unused and clean as they lay waiting beside the sink.

Well, Connor’s sure of one thing. Cleaning would be better than doing nothing.

Without wasting anymore time, Connor ambles over to the sink and grabs hold of the sponge and dish soap. He wasn’t designed for this type of job, but as time went on living with Hank, he adapted to learning how to do so pretty quick. Usually they would do it together most nights so the job would be faster; of course, once Connor adapted to doing the dishes, it would be much easier for him to just do it himself without an extra body in the way. Hank’s company was pleasant, however, so Connor didn’t tell him this.

The dishes are impeccably clean and stored away in the racket to dry within minutes. There’s another quick scan around the general area, and Connor’s pristine eyes pick up the specks of chip and cookie crumbs, dust, and other types of debris scattered around the kitchen floor in clutters. So, still having no other urgent tasks appearing in his vision, he grabs the old broom stored in the garage and goes to work sweeping the floor. From there, he moves on to vacuuming. Then organizing their cluttered bedrooms. Then taking out the overflowing trash.

Before long, almost the entire house is perfectly cleaned, and it’s just barely become 11 A.M. Connor watches as Sumo sprawls out on the spotless floor, sniffing the ground as if inspecting its new cleanliness. Connor heaves a sigh of relief as hints of pride swell within. Yet, regardless of all he’s done, he soon realizes that there’s still one thing left to be cleaned. It’s the bathroom - probably the most dirty room of all.

Connor scurries over their with his bleach wipes, glass spray cleaner, and old rags in hand. As he wipes down the filthy mirror, he finds himself locking eyes with those warm brown eyes that stare right back through the dripping glass cleaner. They break away to sweep over his body in the reflection, picking up every single aspect of him with a burning stare - his new humanlike clothes, his humanlike synthetic olive skin chestnut hair, his humanlike features that were crafted perfectly on his face. Everything about him...it’s just all so _human._

He locks eyes again and squints. The air becomes heavy around him.

But something, within all of these human features, is so...wrong.

It takes a few minutes for Connor to figure out what the issue is. His eyes flash up to his right temple. A deep engraved circle that once spun a gentle, soft blue is flickering now that it’s been spotted. It switches entirely into a golden yellow and begins to flash without break.

_“Are you ever gonna get rid of that?”_

Hank’s past words flit through Connor’s mind. He remembers the way the old police lieutenant peered at him, the way he focused on the obvious LED after the Cyberlife jacket had been thrown off the bridge by Connor.

_“No. I-I can’t,”_ Connor had said as a response. He was sure of that. He couldn’t.

“But maybe, I…” he now says out loud as his tense fingers grip around the edge of the sink. The LED flashes even faster.

And before he knows what he’s doing, his eyes locate a shiny object that lingers in a damp corner of the counter. Beard trimmer scissors, he realizes. There’s a hint of brown rust lining the edge of the blade, yet as Connor reaches his fingers out to gently poke the tip, it's still sharp. Sharp enough for his purpose, at least.

He grabs it without leaving a moment to waste. Immediately, the scissors begin to shudder in rhythm with his trembling fingers. The all-too-common thundering of his thirium pump regulator rings in his ears as he raises his arm up to his right temple. His LED becomes a deep flashing red as the sharp blade pauses just inches from it.

“I need to, I need to, I need to…” Connor repeats again and again as if maybe those encouraging words will allow him to move out of his frozen state. His bites his lip as he tries to steady his fingers; but, they remain shaky, shuddering, scared to death of cutting out the symbol that showed his purpose and fueled him for so long.

An android.

Without knowing he’s an android, what is he?

_What am I?_

_I can’t._

_I can’t do this._

_I can’t get rid of this._

He exhales out a large, shaky breath. With a new boldness in his tone, he speaks out to his still-pale reflection in the mirror. “But I need to.”

And without holding back, without any more hesitation, he jabs the keen scissors towards the edge of his frantic LED. 

_I can’t do it._

In a fit of sheen fear, his eyes gone wide and lifeless, panic shoots through his systems.

_I can’t do it._

His hand abruptly jars off to the side before the blade even touches the blood red LED. It soundlessly cuts into his synthetic skin right overtop the circle like butter. The white porcelain beneath it appears as the skin recoils in a circular motion around the wound, reaching up into his hairline yet leaving the chocolate-colored whisps remaining. However, the porcelain soon becomes coated in a deep blue color as thirium gushes through the deep slash and pours down his face.

Connor inhales harshly through clenched teeth. “Shit.”

Through wild eyes, his head spins around as he searches for a towel, cloth, _anything_ to fix this mess he’s created. Fortunately, his eyes land upon the old rag previously meant for cleaning; it lays in a soppy heap by the bottle of glass cleaner. However, it’s wet condition doesn’t matter now. His clenched fingers release the scissors atop the counter with a clang, and he gingerly presses the cool rag against the wound. Within a few mere seconds, the old faded purple shade of the wet reg is replaced with blotches of sickly thirium color as the wound continues to pour.

The room starts to swim. Vibrant red warnings add to this jarring sight as they flood his vision. The ground beneath him seems to sway as his legs grow weak and refuse to support his body anymore. And just like that, they give up. The room sharply topples to the side, but it comes to an abrupt stop as his free hand slams against the bathroom counter to steady himself. An echoing thud reaches his ears from the impact; however, it’s hardly audible from the white static noise that fills his hearing.

“Oh...oh, fu…” Connor whimpers under his breath. His hand is sliding across the slippery-with-thirium counter with a low squeak; but, he can’t stop it - all plastic muscles within his body have gone dormant, abandoning him as his hand slides further and his vision becomes foggier and his body becomes heavier.

Before he knows it, the tile floor is accelerating upon him and his body is sprawled on the cold floor. His eyes shut upon impact, leaving blotches of red warnings sprawled within the darkness beneath his eyelids. The words “extremely low” and “thirium” scatter in bursts, yet his wavering mind struggles to grab onto their meaning before they fizzle away.

His eyes open. The swollen-with-thirium rag that had fallen to the floor sits before his eyes and seems to dance around as his vision pulsates. With an unsteady hand, he grabs it and blindly searches for the wound on his temple. The second he feels warm liquid on the sensor pads of his fingers, he applies a gentle pressure to the general area in hopes that he found the wound. With a grunt, he uses his empty hand to push his heavy body upwards in an upright sitting position. The blue-stained tile floor becomes farther away from his dizzying sight as his back slams against the cool bathtub.

Connor blinks furiously. The glitching in his eyes subsides slightly as it ebbs into the corners of his vision, allowing his sight to become improved at least a bit. His wavering head teeters around while he surveys the scene before him. Much to his surprise, there’s not as much thirium around as he first imagined. Of course, there’s a thick streak of it across the counter and a puddle by where he first fell. But other than that, there’s only a few splatters here and there along with the scissors dropped by the floor that are lined with thirium. His rag has mostly sopped up all of the initial pour, for as he uses his free hand to gently feel his wound and its surrounding area, it’s mostly dry save for a few remaining spots. But overall, the mess would not have been as bad if he had just remained calm and stopped the wound.

_But, why did I fall like that?_

_Why are there warnings?_

_A cut like this shouldn’t be causing that much damage._

_Am I forgetting something?_

The sound of footsteps grow out past the door, snatching Connor out of his trance. His falling head snaps upwards to face the entrance of the bathroom, yet his vision is blurred beyond comprehension anywhere a few feet before him. He squints his unfocused eyes, but his surroundings past the bathroom remain foggy.

“Who…” He whispers at first, his voice hoarse. He swallows as if that’ll do anything and repeats himself, this time a bit louder. “Who’s there?”

A sudden idea flies through his mind. His heart flutters with a sense of joy.

_Hank?_

“Hank?” He calls out loudly. His voice slams against his ears like a bomb gone off right beside them, and he winces with a sharp inhale. “Hank, is that…is that you?”

The footsteps become louder within the static still roaring in his ears. His hopes grow higher.

“Hank, I’m…I-I’m in here!”

As the sound grows closer, it becomes _different_. It becomes more like a light clicking against the ground and less like human footsteps. Heavy panting soon joins in on the noise. And as the puzzle pieces finally fall into place within Connor’s mind, a large, furry head with a tongue lolling out of the mouth appears by the bathroom doorway.

Connor’s hopes are yanked away as quickly as they came. Still, he can’t help but grin a lopsided warm smile at the dog who is now trotting toward him with kind barks.

“Hey, hey, Sumo,” he coos as he wraps his shuddering arms around the furry pet in an uncoordinated hug. The words continue to slam against his ears, bomb after bomb after bomb ringing in his delicate ears. He bites his lips as he winces again.

Overtop Sumo’s body as they remain in a hug, Connor watches the floor tiles dance through unfocused eyes as his vision glitches in and out, in and out, in and out. The red warnings flash brighter. His body goes numb. The white static in his ears fizzles louder. Deep creases form between his eyebrows and his LED flashes as worry settles uncomfortably within his figurative gut.

_What’s happening to me?_

All of a sudden, Sumo backs out of the hug and Connor’s limp body that was leaning on the dog for support dives forward. His slipping mind jars out of its trance, and he’s quick to catch himself before slamming against the cold floor once his reflexes kick into gear. As his back snaps his body upright against the bathtub, his vision doubles for a moment and becomes nothing but fuzzy pixels. He blinks, and it settles back. The room, however, continues to spin, and the warnings flash unrelentlessly.

The click of paws echo away and come back in what feels like mere seconds to Connor’s frazzled mind. Something rough is dropped into his open hand sprawled on the floor. His head falls as he glances down to check, and a bright red rope is there. _Sumo’s leash_ , his memory finally reminds him. His head snaps back up to face the dark shadow looming before him, and he’s met with an anticipating Sumo sitting excitedly before him. A loud bark slices through the quiet bathroom and pounds against Connor’s eardrums. He winces again.

After staring at the dog for a few moments absolutely dumbfounded, his mind clicks. His voice slurs together slightly as he speaks out in a lowered volume, “You want to go for a walk, don’t you?”

Sumo replies by thumping his heavy tail against the tile floor. Connor smiles warmly - it’s not like there’s anything else he could be doing, anyway. He’s got a lot of time to kill before Hank comes home. Using all of his leftover strength, he heaves his body upward. His legs thankfully catch him - they tremble under the sudden weight, but hold him upright nonetheless.

His vision takes a harsh double take at the sudden movement. There’s the fuzzy pixels and the intense spinning and the flashing red warnings he’s grown accustomed to; but, after a few blinks and a couple seconds to collect himself, they scatter and his vision finally becomes clear for the first time since he fell. A bit of fuzziness hides in the corners of his eyes, but it’s much more manageable now. In fact, his body entire body feels a bit better now, despite the remaining unsteadiness that still lingers in his legs.

_I’m okay._

_It was just a little glitch._

_Right?_

Connor secures the leash around Sumo, who remains steady to allow the android to do so. His fingers continue to shake as he clasps everything together.

“Alright boy, let's go then.”

With that said, they head out of the bathroom with the leash in hand. Connor takes one last glance at the messy bathroom smeared with his blood.

Perhaps he should clean this?

Connor shakes his head. His muscles are too fatigued, his body too unwilling - cleaning can wait for when he gets home. He’s planning on taking a short walk, anyway. Hank won’t even be close to leaving work by the time they return, and that’ll allow plenty of time to wipe this up.

The thirium-streaked bathroom is abandoned, and Connor and Sumo head straight for the door.

Something catches his eye as he passes by the kitchen. His head whips around, his vision betraying him by spinning before it settles again. His eyes land upon the large fridge. Something nags him at the back of his mind - some kind of reminder, some kind of thing that he’s supposed to do here.

_What am I forgetting?_

Sumo tugs at the leash and gives a low whine, pulling Connor out of his thoughts. He snaps back to attention with a shrug, and finally, they head on a clear path towards the front door.

_Oh well._

The door is opened with a squeak, and frigid air slaps against his body. It’s a good thing his body can handle such low temperatures - he hardly even registers it. Though, that could have something to do with the fact that his swimming mind remains stuck in a fog, and his blank eyes dart around unfocused on everything around him as he treks through habit out of the doorway and down the driveway without even needing to think about which direction to go in. He doesn’t even notice the fluffy snow that is already piling on a thick layer overtop the asphalt.

Sumo doesn’t seem to mind the cold either, for he leaps away out of the cozy home and sniffs the snowy ground. However, he begins to become impatient with the slow-moving android that grudges along behind him. He tugs firmly on the leash, pulling Connor out of his stupor and bringing him back to reality. They fall back into step with each other side-by-side.

Connor looks down to face his furry friend. “Where do you want to head to?”

Not surprisingly, there’s no answer. Sumo simply sticks his tongue out to lick the snowflakes that speckle the sky with dots of white before they float towards the ground.

“Around the block, then.”

And so the walk begins. The trek together for a while, Connor gazing at the familiar houses and aspects of nature that he’s grown accustomed to by living with Hank for so long. But as soon as Connor passes by the third house down the street, his vision begins to pulse again. The beautiful snowflakes glitch and blend together into white clumps that are becoming impossible to see through. His body teeters to the side as those legs that he once trusted begin to shudder. The snowy sidewalk swims beneath him. He struggles to remain upright, gravity seeming to pull him side to side. But through it all, a happy yip sounds from his lower side, piercing through his ears with a painful stab.

_Sumo’s enjoying this. I just need to get around the block._

_Just one foot in front of the other._

So he pushes on.

His movements become repetitive as he repeats the words again and again. _Just one foot in front of the other. Just one foot in front of the other. Just one foot in front of the other. Come on, do it for Sumo. You can head home soon._

His tired head gravitates towards the ground and lolls on his chest, and his eyes watch his feet move back and forth, back and forth, back and forth across the white sidewalk. The glitching in his eyes intensify and cut in and out. The warnings grow brighter. The swimming returns at full force.

_Just one foot in front of the other._

His ears fill with static, and the gentle background noise of wind becomes loud and sharp. It whips around his head, slamming against his eardrums, and his face contorts into a permanent grimace. He can’t even hear Sumo’s rhythmic panting anymore as the noises in his ears glitch noisingly and pound through his head.

_Just one foot in front of the other._

_Damn, are we almost done the block yet? It’s been ages._

Connor picks his head up to answer that question, but all that meets his eyes are glitches and colors. It’s become impossible to see - he doesn’t even know what direction he’s heading in anymore. His mind blanks, and his confusion grows. Where even is he? He’s not sure. 

Yet, he pushes on. He’ll find his way back home soon enough. 

_Right?_

Something sounds from below him. The noise cuts in and out, creating sharp jabs at his head that make his grimace split even wider. As the static ebbs off, the common ring of Sumo’s bark reaches his ears. Yet, something is different. His bark is low, joined in with a chorus of whines.

Connor’s eyes blink a mile a minute as his wavering head falls down to peer at Sumo. He watches as the dog yanks backwards at the leash and plops down to sit on the wet sidewalk. Perplexed, Connor tries to gently tug on the leash and urge him forward.

“What’s wrong, boy?”

No success. Sumo is a boulder as he remains unwilling to move, and Connor’s weakened arms shake under the pressure. To make matters worse, Sumo heaves a heavy sigh and lies down on the ground. His head falls between his paws, and his eyelids flutter as they fight to stay open.

“Sumo, what’s-“

He trails off as something catches his eye. Connor raises his head in the direction of it, and sharp rays of a setting golden sun stab his still-glitching eyes. He squints and raises a hand to shield them. Behind the homemade shield, his LED pulses yellow as confusion washes over him.

_A setting sun?_

_But it was before noon when I-_

Another gentle whine grabs his attention. Connor simply stares down at the fatigued dog in awe as everything clicks in his unsteady mind. Sumo returns with a glare that demands his owner’s pity.

With a shuddering hand, Connor pulls out his phone from his back pocket. He clicks on the _on_ button, and the time displays in bold letters in front of the home screen.

**5:58 P.M.**

“How…” he mutters aloud to himself in awe.

_How had I been walking so long?_

_What’s going on with me?_

His mouth is gaping open as he raises his head to survey his environment. His vision is still impaired, yet he’s still able to make out all of the shapes. There’s a swing set over to his right, a few lampstreets, some abandoned benches, parking spots covered with untouched snow, the city in the distance, some rails that look overtop chilled waters…

Wait.

Connor’s LED flicks a harsh red within the yellow as he connects the dots.

It’s the bridge.

A jolt of panic strikes through his systems. On instinct, his head whips around in circles and everything around him becomes blurred into streaks and glitches of colors. His hazelnut eyes dart wildly around the environment in search of a friend, a partner, a certain someone to go to for comfort. Someone he was with last time he was here. Someone who he _needs_ for help. However, he’s met with nothing but the gentle snow that floats around him before they land atop Sumo’s thick fur. 

_Of course Hank’s not here. Who am I kidding?_

_I’m alone now._

His LED flashes without pause amidst the falling snow.

He blinks widely as his mind jerks out of the frozen, terrified stance he’s fallen into. Without allowing anymore moments to dawdle here any longer than he needs to, he heads straight for his phone. His fingers shake overtop the screen as they press the “Hank” contact and click on the phone emote. The ringing drones on, and on, and on, before finally...

_Hi, this is Hank. Not here at the moment. You can leave a message if that’s what turns you on but don’t expect me to call back. Beep…Whatever._

“Ah, no!”

He dials again.

Same response.

Again.

No difference.

Once more.

_Hi, this is Hank. Not here at the moment. You can leave a message if that’s what turns you on bu-_

It cuts off without warning. A hopeless message appears in boxy letters across the screen.

**No Battery**

“Shit!”

His useless phone shudders as it lay cupped in his hands. The screen fades to nothing but black - no words and no way to reach the person Connor desperately needs right now.

Perfect.

He doesn’t know what to do. His mind is too fuzzy, too unfocused, that he remains there in an unmoving state of sheer panic. All he knows is that he can’t be here. Not alone. His mind is already dragging him back to awful memories, already filling him with that awful fear that never seems to leave his side like it’s some dark shadow that can’t be covered no matter _how_ hard he tries to shake it off. He was so hopeless here. So afraid. So desperate that he felt that maybe leaning over those unsteady rails was what had to be done.

That taking one jump was what had to be done.

__Level of Stress_ _  
_****_^85_****_ **  
** Probability of Self Destruction: High

Connor shuts his eyes, trying to keep out the memories. It’s no use. To feed fuel to his vulnerability, his mind begins to chuck memories behind shut eyelids - memories of those awful nightmares that tormented him without rest. Obeying Amanda’s malicious intentions, beating Hank to the ground within an inch of his life, _killing_ his only partner that he loved without even glancing back. All concepts that could so easily become reality. All concepts that he can’t escape. All concepts that still haunt him day and night.

And through it all, what consumes his frazzled mind the most is that terrible incident that wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t just some fear that was based on his imagination. It was _real._

Reaching behind him for his trusty gun that he always held...

Pointing it directly towards that android’s heart that only was just so afraid of being caught for his vandalisms…

Desiring to kill an innocent life just like he always feared he’d do...

All because he heard Amanda’s persuasive, chilling voice - the women who he doesn’t even _know_ is still there - who ordered him what to do.

_I’m a threat._

__Level of Stress_ _  
_****_^90_****_ **  
**      Probability of Self Destruction: High ****

And all he can remember as these haunting memories swirl around him is what almost happened here, right at this very bridge not too long ago, when that terrible understanding that he was a threat struck him at full force and made him feel as if he was drowning, deeper and deeper with no way to reach the surface and escape his dreaded fears.

_One jump..._

He was completely sure of something awful then. That he would hurt someone. Hurt _Hank._

The person he cared for the most.

_I’m dangerous._

_I can’t be alive._

___Level of Stress_ _  
_****_^93_****__ **  
** Probability of Self Destruction: High

His ringing ears vaguely register the low whine that sounds from the sidewalk. He ignores it, his widened eyes locked in a fixated stare over top that deadly rail and oblivious to anything else around him. He remembers it all. He remembers what almost happened here. His mind had tucked that event in the back of his mind like some weed that could never be plucked away. He can still hear the roaring of the consuming waves below as he leaned over the rails, feel the cool metal under his hands as he clung to it in a death grip, see the dark water below prepare to consume him and all that he lived for. He remembers _everything_. 

_One jump…_

_That’s all it would take._

___Level of Stress_ _  
_****_^99_****__ **  
** Probability of Self Destruction: High

_Right?_

“Hey!”

A loud shout cuts through the air, reaching Connor’s ears amidst the static noise that fills them and yanking his mind out of his tunneling thoughts. Every plastic muscle and fiber in his body jolts at the noise.

His head snaps in the direction of the voice, his expression still frozen with dread in every line and crease that shapes his face. There’s a figure several yards before him - a man, it seems. He rushes through the light snow on the ground towards Connor and Sumo. His car is parked behind him, and it hums a gentle roar as the engine runs. However, the edges of Connor’s vision are still quite  fuzzy, creating a blurry image before him that is almost impossible to decipher completely.

A twinge of hope flickers within Connor’s soul.

_Hank?_

The man draws closer. Yet, the nearer he becomes, the more his image becomes defined. Connor’s heart sinks as his still-widened eyes look over the man - his hair is a chestnut brown, and his skin is completely smooth and tan. 

Definitely not Hank.

The man is only a few feet before him now. His big eyes are creased in a state of worry, and his shuffled footsteps through the piling snow become hurried the closer he gets to Connor standing there like a terrified deer caught in the headlights. 

He pauses once he’s standing right before Connor. His dark eyes sweep over him as he takes in the sorry sight, confusion and concern consuming his features. With words that have finally become more crisp to Connor’s ears, he questions, “Hey, you alright? You-“

He pauses. His eyes widen.

“Shit, you’re…” His stare darts over to the blood red LED resting on Connor’s forehead. “...You’re an android.”

He backs up slowly as the realization dawns over him, his footsteps crunching in the snow. His once sympathetic gaze becomes dejected and cold; yet, he takes frequent glances at Connor before him who remains in a shaken up, silent stance. The only moving part of him is the LED that flashes at a rapid speed, and his chest which bounces up and down in tune with his raging thirium pump regulator.

The man shakes his head and takes one final look before placing his attention fully to his feet. He says aloud as he continues backing away, not daring anymore to meet Connor’s widened eyes, “I’m sorry, I…”

His body comes to a sudden halt. He mumbles under his breath with another shake of his head.

“Fuck.”

Their eyes are locked again as the man brings his head up. Sympathy is hidden deep within the darkness of them as they stare back into Connor’s hollow eyes - maybe he’s trying to read the android’s petrified expression, maybe he’s perplexed on what’s going on and is trying to understand. Connor isn’t sure. All he knows is that something is stirring within the man. Something is stirring within him that is refusing to let him return to his car and drive away.

The man takes a few slow steps forward.

“Do you...do you need a ride or anything?” He pulls away his gaze to look towards the sky, which is taking on an indigo hue as the golden sun falls deeper towards the horizon. “It’s getting late, and it looks like the snow is gonna pick up soon. I just saw you out here alone, and uh...I, um, just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

The man stares at Connor as he waits for an answer. Yet, his expression of shock remains frozen, and all fleeting thoughts that swirl in his mind become a jumbled mess that he can’t form into understandable words. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes forth. 

“I’m…” Connor begins. His words trail off and fade into the wind. He takes a shuddering breath. “I’m okay.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “You sure? You gotta ride or something?”

Connor shakes his head. “Uh, no. I-I was just taking Sumo, um, my dog, for a walk. I can walk back now - don’t worry.”

“You live close?”

“N-no.”

A small, rare smile appears on the man’s lips. “Listen, I can drive you home if you want. It’s no big deal. You just...you don’t look too good, and I don’t want you getting stuck here in the snow or anything. So, you sure you don’t need a ride?”

Connor’s gaze is directed towards the car, still running as it waits for the driver to return. And as he compares sitting in there to walking all the way back home with Sumo, the latter appears much more draining.

“I...I guess.”

The man nods. “Alright, let’s go.”

Connor pulls gently on the leash to stir Sumo, and now following the man, they head towards the car. As the edge of the bridge becomes farther away, Connor’s breathing slows before it finally falls back into its regularly programmed rhythm, and his LED flickers back to yellow. He keeps his head trained on the car, trained on looking forward, trained on keeping one foot in the front of the other and not looking back.

He needs to leave.

A burst of warmth surrounds Connor the minute he opens the passenger’s side door. His wavering body gratefully hops in the heated interior and falls into the cushioned seat, allowing Sumo to rest his large body on his lap. The car is old, unlike all the other fancy cars that are produced nowadays. There’s a musty smell that is only somewhat reduced by the car air freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror, and the seat’s velvety cover is gently torn. As the man gets in and turns on the old radio, jazz music floods through.

Connor quickly realizes that this car is just like Hank’s.

_Hank._

The reminder of his friend creates a sharp stab of longing through his soul. He didn’t realize it until now, but he misses him. He misses him _so_ much. He just wants to be home - home with Hank. That’s all he needs right now.

The mere idea sounds like paradise.

_Level of Stress_   
**⌄79** **  
** Probability of Self Destruction: Moderate

The car ride whirs by as Connor dives in and out of focus. No conversation passes between the two men after Connor tells his address to the man; but, the music that drones on in the background thankfully omits any awkwardness. Instead, they remain kept to themselves - the man taking over the wheel, and Connor stroking Sumo as he sleeps on his lap.

A drop of blood suddenly lands on the fur. Connor instinctively reaches up towards his wound, finding it slightly sticky again. As he wipes it with the back of his hand, a realization pops into his mind. Hank will see this. He’ll question it. He’ll be worried, and suspicious, and everything bothersome that Connor just can’t stand anymore. An idea forms; he gently moves over a tuft of his hair and pushes it to lay overtop the wound, concealing it.

Much better.

After many minutes pass, Connor takes a glance out the foggy passenger’s window. Through still glitching eyes, he notices that it has become almost purely white outside - the snow is, in fact, picking up. He watches as the heavy snowflakes fall and cover all of Detroit in a blanket of white. And as the jazz music floats around him and as the scene becomes repetitive, full of nothing but white and common buildings, his mind wanders. It creeps back to thoughts that he doesn’t want. Thoughts of what just happened. Thoughts of the bridge. His mind pulls his body back, and all he can feel again in the fear, the terror, the overwhelming sinking feeling that took over his entire body as it stood there, frozen. He remembers it all. The image stays like a permanent image in his mind no matter how hard he tries to force it out.

His LED flashes red.

His thirium pump regulator pounds.

His body shudders.

_One jump..._

“Turn left,” the automated G.P.S instructs the man through his phone. Connor jars out of his stance, and with a little shake of his head, he tries to place his attention back on watching the snow fall, and fall, and fall...

As they round the corner, new sights appear before him. Recognizable sights. He recalls this street. And before he knows it, a familiar home with a familiar car parked in the driveway comes into view amidst the snow. And that longing, that desire to be home, comes upon Connor at full force. A few tears spring into his mocha eyes, and they glass over.

He needs Hank.

He can’t be alone anymore.

The car comes to a halt by the curb, it’s tires crunching through the snow as it slows. Sumo’s head perks up at the sudden stop in motion.

“Okay, this is your home, right?” The man says as he peers at the small run-down home.

Connor turns his head to face the man. He nods and gives the best smile he can, all muscles within him drained yet still fighting to be polite. “Yes, thank you.”

The door is opened, and snow particles snap him in the face. Sumo is unfazed by the storm as he leaps out of the car in an eagerness to reach the place he immediately recognizes as home. Connor follows at a much slower pace with his hand gripped tightly around the leash. His feet hit the snowy ground, and he moves to stand; however, his body wavers as his legs struggle to remain steady. The glitch in his eyes grows. Connor gives himself a moment and, once it subsides a bit after a few seconds, he turns to face the man in the car. He pauses, not sure whether to say thank you again or not. He goes with the latter and simply watches as the man wraps his hands around the wheels and prepares to pull away.

However, unlike what Connor expected, he doesn’t. The passenger’s window rolls down and the man leans over through it. He opens his mouth to say something, but then he hesitates. His curious eyes silently study the android before him. After a few moments of this, he sighs and does a little shake of his head. “Just…stay safe, alright?”

Connor doesn’t know how to respond. With a dumbfounded expression on his face, all he does is nod in affirmation.

The man’s attention is pulled away when his phone audibly rings through the car. The man backs his head through the window and falls back into his seat, where he fumbles with his pockets and pulls out the phone. “Hello?...Hey, Dad. Yeah, it’s Leo…”

And just like that, the car rolls away through the heavy snowfall.


	18. No More Burdens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very inspired to write this chapter, so I was able to get it out in a little under 2 weeks! To be fair, this was the part in the story that I was pretty excited to reach once I started writing the draft of the whole thing. So, I’m happy that I finally made it to this point in the plot!
> 
> Anyway, in this chapter, it looks like Connor’s guilt is starting to really get to him...

Connor’s legs couldn’t move any faster if he tried.

He dashes through the thick slushy snow, not bothering as his legs tremble and stumble over each other with each and every clumsy stride. His vision continues glitching in and out, in and out, and the heavy snowfall that the looming grey clouds dump upon Detroit surely aren’t helping matters. It stabs into every inch of his face with tiny iced pinpricks, and although Connor has brought a hand up to shield his face, the wintery mix manages to deter from the barrier and find its way into his synthetic skin. But through it all, Hank’s sleepy home before him is still in sight, and it grows closer with each leap. 

_ Hank. _

The very concept of him, the very concept of the warmth of his touch and the warmth of his compassionate words that never fail to melt away any awful feelings within the android - it all creates a deep throb in his soul and a sheen of tears in his squinted eyes.

He misses him.

He misses him more than he can bear.

He can’t be alone anymore.

A blur of pecan and cream whirs past him. It’s Sumo, his large paws barely digging into the piled-high snow drifts before they bounce off the ground again in the direction of the front door. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and flings against his cheek as he bounds towards the door. From what he can tell, the old dog is clearly as excited to be home as Connor is.

The St. Bernard’s yips of glee blend into the howling wind that pounds against Connor’s ears and swirls around him as if trying to send his body onto the wet ground. A harsh gust of wind collides with his body like a brick wall, and his body that sways like a feather collapses into the snow. Wet slush seeps into his crisp clothes and ices over his synthetic skin. And oh, how he wants to lay here. He wants nothing more than to simply lay down right in this very spot - even if that meant his body froze over and became one with the ground.

But he’s too close now. Hank’s home is  _ right there. _

_ Keep going. _

He hoists his body up - slowly for sure, but he’s back up again. 

_ Almost there. _

They reach the door, Sumo panting and Connor exhausted and soaked as he wavers side to side. Snow clumps slide off his damp, dismantled hair and fall in splatters to the ground beside them. His clothes are blotched with water stains where the snow managed to find its way through and melt into the fabric. The hidden cut overtop his LED oozes blue blood, and Connor wipes his hand across the general area. He hopes that didn’t leave a stain, but it probably did knowing his luck.

Overall, he looks like a mess. He sure  _ feels  _ like it.

But there the door stands before them, like a large barrier between the outside harsh environment that rages on and the comfort of the cozy indoors. With  _ Hank. _ Connor’s eagerness soars. And without any pause, Sumo thudding his burly tail against Connor’s legs in anticipation, he wraps his hand around the cool door handle and turns.

The door swings open with a creak, and an inviting rush of heat surrounds them.

The sound of wood against tile crashes through the air. Connor’s eyes instinctively dart in the direction of the noise; there, standing beside one of the kitchen chairs that had just fallen to the ground, is Hank with a wild expression on his face. The only light in the house illuminates from the kitchen’s overtop lighting, and it casts dark shadows around Hank’s sulken face. His eye bags and the creases that line his forehead appear even more prominent now.

“Holy shit.”

He bounds towards Connor and Sumo from the kitchen. His footsteps pound against the ground and thunder around the home, each one more hurried and panicked than the last. The moment he reaches the silent meek duo in the doorway, he wraps his hands around Connor’s shoulder and grips them almost tight enough to mend the plastic.

“Where the fuck where you?” he shouts. His eyebrows furrow together in fury, and his eyes are ablaze. They stare daggers at Connor. “Do you know how many times I called after I saw you tried to reach me? I called like, like...” He takes his one hand off of his death grip on Connor’s shoulder to wave it through the air in an exasperated gesture. His train of thought cuts off as he continues. “B-but you never answered back, and I, I didn’t know what was going on, so I panicked and...Shit, didn’t I tell you stay here? You were supposed to stay home, Connor! Why don’t you ever listen to what I say?”

Hank stops his rampage when he notices that the android before him is oddly silent. His lip quivers and his glossy wide eyes stare right back into Hank’s, never breaking apart and still holding that fear that is implemented deep within them. His throat closes up, and his LED pulses a warning yellow beneath the tufts of hair that cover the cut wound.

“Con?”

And that’s it. That one nickname, that one-syllable gentle call of concern is the final breaking point.

A choking sob escapes from his lips, and his shoulders hitch. Hot tears burst through the dam that was his lower eyelid and flow down his face with a never ending streak that pours, and pours, and pours - Connor knows that it won’t stop even if he tries. His flushed face scrunches together into an awful pained expression, and his once calmer LED that rests on his forehead begins to flicker in a battle between crimson and yellow.

Shame covers him in a blanket as the loud messy cries continue. He uses his shaky hands to try to wipe away all of the rolling tears off his cheeks, but they keep streaming without break - Connor doesn’t even know how he has that much stored within his body. But it doesn’t matter. They just keep coming down his face with each bawl, with each violent shudder of his body, with uneven breath he tries to take in with a sharp inhale.

He’s so embarrassed. He had never cried this much before, and he can feel the burning stare of Hank’s eyes that remain glued to Connor. He can’t even bring his own swimming chestnut eyes up to meet Hank’s gaze, knowing that shame will consume him even more. In a desperate attempt to cover himself, Connor buries his tear-stricken face in the crook of his elbow, shutting his eyes to block out everything around him. His jacket material quickly becomes soaked as the tears fall into it.

The obnoxious static roars on in his ears, but amidst the noise, his audio processors pick up on something. A familiar soothing voice within the despair that swirls around him.

“Connor.”

That’s all Hank says, but the wails become even louder because of it. 

Something large and warm presses against his shaking body. Then, large arms wrap around him in a tight clench, and gentle hands are felt rubbing circles onto his hitching back. Soothing nonsense is mumbled into his ears, along the words of “it’s okay,” “let it out,” “there, there,” but Connor’s audio processors are so overloaded that it’s difficult to pick up on every word that Hank says. They comfort him, regardless - and he grasps onto that feeling of comfort before it slips away out of his fingers like a handful of sand. He ached for it for so long that he just can’t lose it now.

Connor wraps his arms around Hank in a death grip and buries his face into his chest. The sobs become muffled there, yet they still rage on like the powerful blizzard outside. Connor isn’t sure when it’ll pass. He isn’t sure it ever will.

“I-I...I can’t do t-this anymore,” he sputters out between gasps for air. “I can’t, I can’t…”

He stops, words cut off when the sobs drown him out. He grips on tighter.

“What was that?” Hank asks with words that are barely above a whisper. Concern creeps into his tone.

But Connor doesn’t say anymore.

_ I can’t tell Hank,  _ his inner voice warns him.

_ I can’t say anything. _

_ I can’t. _

_ I can’t. _

_ I can’t. _

_ But I… _

_ But I want to. _

_ I need to. _

_ I... _

His mind is at war between the two options; his LED flashes sporadically against Hank’s chest as it plays out. He doesn’t know what to do. That overwhelming burden of secrets on his back presses even harder, and his soul aches to just speak out, say  _ something. Anything.  _ But he can’t. He knows he can’t. What would Hank say? How would he react?

_ To know I’m a threat? _

“C’mon, please talk to me.”

Hank’s tender words melt into him. They stir his soul, urge him on, feed that always-growing guilt of how he has been holding back his true feelings for so long. Too long. The overwhelming burden weighs heavily on his back; it’s far past it’s breaking point, and Connor knows that it’s ready to finally send him down.

_ But I have to hold it in. _

_ I can’t say anything. _

“Con, what’s going on?” Hank prods, words muffled as he speaks through the android’s hair. The utter desperation in his crumbling voice stabs Connor in the chest with guilt and twists the knife. It’s  _ too much.  _ The burden presses harder, and harder, and harder, ready to snap his back with remorse. Connor  _ knows  _ how desperate Hank is. He  _ knows  _ how much he cares. He needs an answer. He can’t be left in the dark any longer. 

All the moments he’s been there for Connor…

All the times he’s helped him as best he could...

How could Connor do that to him?

To lie to him again?

_ I… _

_ I need to say something. _

And before he knows what he’s doing, before he can stop himself, the confessions that he has stuffed inside since the morning of that first nightmare come pouring out of his mouth without any more holding back.

“Hank, I c-can’t, I can’t keep living in fear!” His words are almost above a shout as he cries into Hank’s chest. His fingers clench harder around the familiar old jacket Hank loves to wear, and his knuckles turn white under the sudden pressure. “It’s all there is. That’s all I feel. I-I can’t do it, I can’t, it’s...i-it’s too much. Because I know that I could, I could...”

Hank pauses, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t and sobs are the only thing that follows, he prods, “You could…what?”

“I could  _ kill  _ you, Hank.”

Hank’s clutch on the android suddenly releases. Connor’s red-rimmed eyes pop open at the jarring disturbance, and they land right into those wide, icy blue eyes. His stomach churns.

Hank’s mouth falls open. “ _ What? _ What are you talking about?”

The android hugs his shuddering body for support now that Hank’s hold on him is absent. He bites his lip that continues it’s telltale quiver as shame create a dark pit in his stomach. 

_ I shouldn’t have said anything. _

Hank grabs a hold of Connor’s arms and squeezes them almost tight enough to cut off the circulation of his thirium. He leans in with his looming statue, the familiar strong smell of alcohol reaching Connor’s nose, and fear swells within the android’s paralyzed body. His eyes dart away and stare at the floor.

_ This is it. _

_ I’ve done it. _

_ Hank will throw me out, Hank won’t trust me, Hank will- _

“Con, it’s okay.”

Hank’s soothing words snap Connor out of his spirling thoughts. He brings his eyes back up and they immediately find those sky-blue eyes. But, instead of being fueled with a fiery anger, they are creased with worry. They melt with sadness as he gazes at his partner before him who’s fighting to hold his tears back. And they stare so deep within Connor’s that he feels as if Hank can see the raging thoughts swirling in his frazzled mind; they seem to be searching for an answer, something,  _ anything _ to understand his android.

And as he opens his mouth to speak, his words are beyond gentle. “Just, please, what are you talking about?” 

Connor is completely silent as first. There’s a lump in his throat, and he’s positive that any words will cause another round of sobs to consume him. They’ve finally just subsided - the last thing he wants is for them to return. Finally, he takes a deep, shuddering breath and speaks out with a meek voice.

“Do you remember how I helped the revolution?”

Hank nods.

“Well, after it was over, I was on a stage, overlooking all the androids. I stood beside Markus. And everything was fine, it really was, b-but then…but then…” He stops as fear consumes his expression. His voice cracks, and hot tears spring into his eyes. “B-but then it wasn’t. One minute I was just standing there, but the next, I was...I w-wasn’t in control, Hank. It was Cyberlife, they made me pull out the gun and then I was ready to shoot Markus and I couldn’t stop myself-“

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Hank consoles as his grip on the android softens. “It’s okay.”

Connor takes a shuddering breath to stop his rambling thoughts, and he does a little shake of his head. He feels wetness on his cheeks, knowing with shame that the tears have already leaked out. Ignoring the cracking in his voice, he sputters out, “B-but then I found Kamski’s emergency exit. I could stop Cyberlife, and I did. I-I got my control back. But…”

“But what?”

Connor takes a deep breath.

”Do…” He pauses with hesitation. “Do you remember those nightmares I’ve been having?”

Hank nods his head. Of course he does.

“Well, that’s...that’s what they’ve been about.” Connor can already feel the hysteria rising in his voice, yet he can’t stop it. The lump in his throat grows, choking his words and threatening to let the dam of sobs burst through again. “But it’s different. It’s...y-you. And I’m being breached again. I’m trying…”

His words trail off as the lump overcomes his words. His shoulders hitch again, and a sob escapes from his lips.

“I’m trying to kill you, Hank.”

Hank simply stares, soft eyes crinkling as he silently watches his friend break down all over again. He reaches in for another hug, and Connor practically dives into the comfort of his arms. The cries drone on, his body shuddering with each one. His LED flashes a harsh red against Hank’s chest.

Hank ruffles his chocolate curly hair in a soothing manner as Connor weeps. After a few moments of this, he says in a voice barely above a whisper, “It’s okay - they’re just nightmares. You’re in control now -  _ not _ Cyberlife.”

“No!” Connor shouts back. His voice wavers. “They’re not just nightmares, Hank! D-didn’t you hear what I said? It  _ happened  _ before. It really did. It happened with Markus, and it, it could happen with you this time - it really could, it could-“

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Hank interrupts the rambling in a tender tone. He’s trying  _ so  _ hard, Connor knows. He’s trying so hard to make things better.

But Connor isn’t stupid. He can hear the doubt creeping into his voice, regardless of how much Hank tries to hide it.

“No, Hank, no it’s not!”

“Con-“

His eyes go wide against Hank’s chest as a flash of fear strikes through him. “It’s going to happen. I-I know it. Everywhere I go I can see her, I can see her ready to take control of me. She’s just waiting for the right moment I’m sure-“

“She?” Hank questions. “Who’s she?”

“A-Amanda. She’s a program in my mind who monitors me. She...she was the one who breached me.”

Hank is quiet for a moment. 

“In your...mind?” he finally prods.

Connor nods. His tears are choking him - he can’t say anymore.

Suddenly, Hank pulls him off his chest. He holds onto his arms to steady the wavering android, and he stares him dead in the eyes. His own blue ones flash with determination. 

“Listen,” he says between Connor’s whimpers. “I don’t care if Cyberlife, or Amanda, or whatever-the-fuck tries to take over you. It won’t work. You’re stronger than that. I know you. It won’t happen.”

“It will!” Connor yells back in a quivering voice. His bloodshot eyes go wild with panic. “Hank, you don’t understand! It’s going to, I know it. I can’t stop it, unless...unless I...”

His sentence ends there. His eyes dart towards the floor as if their shoes were interesting at all. His arms wrap around his chest in an awkward self hug, his body shaking underneath his fingers.

Hank gently squeezes Connor’s arms. “Unless you what?”

“Unless I self-destruct.”

Hank’s grip is suddenly released. His footing falls back as if someone had just knocked him backwards.

The android meekly brings his gaze back up to meet his friend’s eyes. They have gone wide with utter terror - the stark white of his eyes rims around the deep blue center. His jaw has dropped to the floor as well, and his features are melting in concern. His mouth remains agape, and nothing else comes from it. 

Silence settles heavily around them as he remains in a speechless, shaken stance.

Connor breaks the silence. “Hank, if I...if I just self-destruct-“

“Connor,” is all Hank says, the words barely-audible. His voice cracks. “Don’t you dare talk like that.”

“But y-you don’t understand! I need to, or else I’ll-”

“I don’t care!”

His sudden shout cuts off the android and causes him to jump. Hank’s face flushes red with a wild rage, and his hands clench into a tight grip by his sides.

“I don’t care if you  _ think  _ you need to!” he barks out between gritted teeth. Connor is silent as he takes it all in, slightly backing away as the words full of venom pound into him. He knows that the anger is directed towards what he just said and not towards  _ him _ in and of itself, but his friend’s outrage is scaring him nonetheless. “Don’t even think about doing that, Connor! You…you can’t…”

He pauses as his eyes gloss over. And just like that, the fire that raged within him has burned out, and all that visibly consumes Hank is sorrow.

His voice drops. It’s uneasily hollow. “You can’t think about doing that. Ever. And if you ever are even coming close to...to trying...please talk to me. Please. I’m always here.”

Connor can’t even hide the guilty, horrified expression that warps on his face as memories flash before his eyes.

Memories of standing before the rails.

Hands shaking.

Thirium pump regulator pounding.

Water roaring below.

Ready to take that one jump.

“Connor, have you…” Hank’s words pull him out of his whirling thoughts. Wide blue eyes take in the awful expression on the android’s face and the realization dawns on him.

“Have you tried?”

Connor nods numbly. There’s no other answer. For ever when he tries to open his mouth and explain, nothing comes forth.

Hank’s skin becomes a ghostly pale. The air grows thick with tension as they stare at each other, each one refusing to break the heavy silence. 

“Holy shit.” That’s all Hank says. He leans on the wall as if maybe he’d fall over if he didn’t. “When, Connor? When?”

The android fidgets with the cuff of his sleeve. His red-rimmed eyes grow dim as he stares bullets at the ground. With an empty voice, he confesses, “The first day of our investigation, after I ran away over the frozen lake. And…”

“And what?”

“A-and I almost did…”

Connor’s voice is just above a whisper when he finishes. “...Today.”

Hank draws a hand over his face. 

“Fuck.”

That’s all there is he has to say. Hank appears so shaken, so afraid, at such a loss for words that the single phrase is all that he’s able to say. His eyes are wild as he looks around with one hand still clenched around the lower portion of his face and other hand shaking ever so slightly by his side.

He sighs, and his eyes dart back up to meet Connor’s. “Is that where you were? Is that why you weren’t home?”

He nods. “I just meant to take Sumo for a walk, but I lost track of time. And then I was there at the bridge, and e-everything just…”

There are those tears again, warm and flooding over his cheeks. Just when they’d begun to dry away.

He covers his face with his hands where the sobs become muffled. 

“I-I’m sorry, Hank. I’m so, so sorry,” he manages to croak out. 

Hank’s gentle hands lay atop his shoulders. “Don’t apologize. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

When the tears continue to gush out, his hands lift from his shoulders and wrap fully around Connor into yet another hug. He rubs his shuddering back in calming circles, and finally, for the first time since he had entered the home, Connor’s tense muscles begin to relax. His crimson LED that flashed sporadically suddenly calms into a gentle, pulsating circle, and his breathing becomes less ragged and falls into its steady rhythm.

And as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he feels so much better. A burden has been lifted off of him - a burden of secrets and lies that have been accumulated for so,  _ so  _ long.

He takes one last shuddering sigh, and then gently pulls away.

Hank watches his friend wipe his tear-stained cheeks with pitiful eyes. “Feel better?”

Connor nods with an averted gaze. He still can’t shake off the shame that settles uncomfortably within him. “Yes, th-thank you.” His voice still holds that telltale quiver from the aftermath, regardless of how he tries to hide it.

Hank pats Connor’s shoulder, prompting him to finally bring his eyes up to meet the police lieutenant’s. He gives a sad, reassuring smile. “C’mon. I just ordered pizza - let’s go eat dinner, huh?”

Connor knows that he can’t  _ eat _ , per sé. It's just an invitation to hang out together at the dinner table like they always loved to do. And he is more than grateful to do so.

Together, they amble towards the kitchen with Sumo trotting at their heels. As Hank pours him a hefty bowl of dry dog food into his empty bowl, Connor studies the kitchen table with a curious gaze. The pizza pie is still completely whole - there’s a slice that was put on a plate, but it’s untouched.

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor watches Hank take side glances in his direction as he closes the dog food bag. He seems to notice the android eyeing the untouched pizza with suspicion.

“I wasn’t hungry,” he explains as joins Connor by the table. “Y’know, with you not home yet and all…”

Connor understands. “Yeah.”

Hank picks the chair off the ground and takes a seat. Connor follows suit, but he practically falls into his chair as his wavering legs give out. And while the tears from before hid them, the glitches are still lingering there within the corners of his eyes. They buzz even greater now, and it takes all of his strength to focus on anything except what’s right in front of him. To add onto his list of problems, the static in his ears roars obnoxiously to make all noises around him sound as if they were underwater. He ignored it back when he was talking with Hank, but now when he has nothing else to place his attention on, it rings prominently. It rings even louder than before, it seems.

This isn’t good.

If that were even possible, he feels even  _ worse  _ than how he felt as he walked to the bridge.

Words float overtop Connor as Hank makes gentle conversation, but his mind is too tired to try to listen past the static and pick up on the words. He simply melts into the chair with fatigue, trying to appear attentive to his blabbering friend before him but knowing for sure he’s not doing very well.

The room goes dim as his glitching eyes close. He fights to hold them open, fights to keep his slumping body upright, but every biocomponent within his body advises for him to go into standby mode for some reason unknown to him and they seem to be winning. Warnings pour into his vision, but his mind is too hazy to grab their meaning before they fizzle away into the glitches that cloud his eyes. And as he tries to pay attention to Hank’s words that continue to float around him, he can’t help the concern that swells within his mind.

_ What is going on with me? _

“Connor!”

He jumps in his chair at the call of his name. His  half-lidded eyes raise up to meet with Hank before him - he’s slightly leaning forward across the table, snapping his fingers before Connor’s face. He stops when he notices he’s grabbed his attention, and he leans back.

“Hey, you alright?” Hank’s grey eyebrows are furrowed with concern, and the pizza remains uneaten as it limps like a wet rag in his hand.

Connor stares like a deer caught in the headlights for a few moments - his mind is swimming too much for him to figure out how to respond. At first, as his foggy mind clears just a bit, his instinct tells him to say some lie along the lines of “Yes Hank, I’m fine.” But he’s done lying. He’s done with it.

“I don’t...I don’t know,” he says slowly. He looks around in a haze like a lost puppy; everything is blurry, and the room is spinning too fast for his liking. The bright red warnings start to flash - he grabs the words “thirium,” “low,” and “dangerous,” but that’s all he can see. The words full of warning dance around amidst the glitches before he can catch them.

For the first time in forever, what he said is the honest truth. He doesn’t know what’s happening. Why his body is behaving this way is completely unbeknownst to him. He has no real answer.

And that scares him.

Hank’s eyes sweep over him. “Well, you look awful.”

“I feel awful,” Connor answers with a shrug. “It’s like every part of me wants to go into standby mode - I don’t know why. And it’s only…” He glances at the kitchen clock. “...seven p.m.”

“Well, why don’t you just go to bed then? It doesn’t matter that it’s early. I’ll join you in my room later.”

Connor sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. Meekness creeps into his tone as he says, “I...I can't.”

Hank’s one eyebrow raises in question. He finally takes a bite of his pizza, chews, swallows, and then asks, “Why not?”

Connor wraps his arms around his chest and sinks slightly into his chair. And as the next words are muttered out of his mouth, he feels so, so very small.

“Because I don’t want to be alone.”

Hank’s eyes widen at first, and his chewing on the second bite he took of his pizza suddenly stops in place. The room becomes thick with silence when he doesn’t say anything in answer.

But then, a sad smile creeps into Hank’s face. He gazes upon Connor with fondness, his blue eyes twinkling brightly yet hiding so much concern within. “Well, I don’t blame you.” The smile falls. “Especially after today when…”

His sentence trails off there, and Connor is glad. He doesn’t want him to finish. He already knew what he was going to say.

“Yeah.” Connor’s dim eyes point at nothing in particular, but they refuse to meet the teal ones from across the table that stare him down. Instead, he resolves to studying the grease stains that line the edges of the pizza box.

Hank takes a swig of the lemonade bottle beside him and heaves a sigh. “Tell you what - I’m gonna watch the game for a little, and at like eight or eight-thirtyish I’ll come join you. That sound okay?”

Connor brings his eyes up at that. A small smirk appears on his face. “That’s still too long to be alone, Hank.”

His partner chuckles in response. “You’ll probably fall asleep before I come in, anyway.”

“Androids don’t fall asleep,” he retorts. He crosses his arms across his chest like a defiant child who was just told they aren’t allowed to buy candy at a candy store. “We go into an  _ intentional _ standby when we feel ready.”

“We both know that’s a load of bullshit, Con.”

Connor sighs in defeat and slumps against the back of his chair. He has to admit it - perhaps Hank is correct for once about androids. Even if it doesn’t make logical sense for that to be the case.

Which, of course, it doesn’t. Nothing seems to make sense lately.

Hank draws a face when he reaches for another slice. “Aw, this pizza is cold.” With that, he gets up from his seat at the kitchen table, places a few slices on a large plate, and ambles towards the microwave.

Connor follows suit and gets up from the table. His chair creaks along the tiles as he slowly pushes it back and stands up. “I guess I’ll head to bed now, then.”

“Sounds good,” Hank says as he fidgets with then buttons on the microwave, his back turned on the android. 

But it wasn’t good.

The moment his body is in a fully upright state, everything around him doubles. Two tables, two sets of chairs, two Sumos, two Hanks, two pizza boxes, two of  _ everything.  _ At first, he waits for it to calm like it usually does with a hand to his head and his eyes rapidly blinking. But, this time it doesn’t. It doesn’t calm. Glitches flood his vision more than usual, and an alarm blares in tune with the common static that buzzes loudly like a hoard of bees flying around right beside his ears. The room starts to swim into an incomprehensible image; his body sways at the jarring sight. His shaking feet stumble over each other, and the ground seems to be coming upon him before his one hand finds the table with a slam and his body comes to a halt from falling.

Panic consumes his frazzled mind. Harsh red warnings start to fill his vision and flash in tune with his scarlet LED - and this time, they stay like permanent images burned into eyes instead of glitching away. His mind, for the first time all day, is able to read the life-threatening words.

**_Thirium Dangerously Low - <10% Remaining_ **

**_Body Overheating_ **

**_-00:58:37_ **

**_Time Remaining Before Shutdown_ **

**_Seek Attention Immediately!_ **

“H-Hank, I don’t…”

The words that he manages to croak out sound far away, as if maybe he had said them underwater. He’s not even sure if they really came out or not. All he knows is that his breathing is becoming rapid and his muscles are trembling and he’s close to falling over.

His suspicions on whether he was able to actually get the words out are immediately confirmed. He watches between the glitches and warnings in his eyes as Hank prys his attention away from the microwave and whips around at Connor’s cry for help.

“Connor!”

The police lieutenant lunges towards the struggling android with leaping strides. Hank’s gentle hands wrap around his back and support him, helping to heave his body back upright and away from leaning on the table. He registers Hank’s warmth felt all down his one side, and only then does he realize that his entire body is now leaning on him for support. Hank’s familiar voice begins to flood his ears.

“What the fuck, Connor, what’s wrong?” His words are merged together as they pour through in a rush.

Connor’s feet finally find the ground again and are planted there. The floor tiles beneath him swim, and he blinks furiously to rid the dizzying sight. There’s no success. “I’m okay, Hank. I’m okay.”

Hank places a hand on his forehead, ignoring Connor’s pathetic attempt to calm him down. “You’re warming up. Shit, You’re fucking  _ burning _ .”

“I-I’m fine, Hank.”

“Why are you so heated? Does this ever happen?”

“Hank-“

“Fuck, do you have a way to cool down? Is it serious? How do I-“

“Hank!”

Hank’s rambling cuts off at the sudden shout. His attention snaps back up to meet Connor’s gaze - those bright blue eyes of his are bulging as they are consumed with panic.

“Calm down,” Connor says. His words quiver with concern that he tries his best to hide, yet is failing badly to do so. Nothing new there. “L-let me just...let me just figure it out, alright?”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Figure it out?  _ Figure it out _ ? Connor, you’re shaking and pale and burning up and I don’t know  _ what _ to do. What’s going on? What’s happening?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” He screams back. His strained voice wavers.

And the truth is, he  _ doesn’t  _ know.

The flashing warning about his thirium continues to swirl in his vision, but what does it mean? Why is it there? Why thirium?

_ What am I forgetting? _

“Connor? Connor! Hey, stay with me!”

He’s vaguely aware that he’s starting to slip out of Hank’s grasp, but he can’t stop it no matter how hard he tries to put his muscles to use and keep his body upright. They refuse to cooperate. His head is falling onto his chest and his legs are shuddering in a warning that they’re ready to give out. Hank’s hands are still gripped tightly around his waist, and they grow tighter the more his body starts to waver towards the ground. 

“...nor, can you hear...Con...Hey, hey, stay with me, I’ve got you…”

The words amidst the blaring of the alarm and the buzzing of the static cut in and out, in and out before Connor can catch their meaning. His mind barely grasps onto them before any understanding fizzles away, lost and forgotten. He raises his heavy head to stare at his friend to read his lips, but it’s futile - Hank’s mouth is moving too fast for him to read, his vision keeps becoming obstructing with those awful warnings and glitches, and his mind keeps fogging up before he can even attempt to focus on deciphering Hank’s words.

“It’s oka…You’re alrig…Connor, for fuck’s sake please stay awak…”

But without any warning, the ground is accelerating towards him and his vision is plummeted into complete darkness.


End file.
